Spear of Destiny: Rise of the Dragons
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Brotherhood AU.Dean Winchester's Triad has faced countless obstacles to claim their rightful place in The Brotherhood-their destiny, only to find that Destiny may have another plan in store for them.
1. Chapter 1

The Spear of Destiny: Rise of the Dragons Series

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: First, and foremost, this story is for all the readers who have faithfully written me over the last year inquiring about the next Brotherhood story. Your interest kept me and Tidia interested! This new series, Rise of the Dragons, is one Tidia and I have wanted to write for a while-letting the boys get the feel of being The Triad without all the apocalypse fall out. We could not pass up the perfect timing of the Chinese New Year, which heralds in the year of our beloved Dragon. It was Kismet, I tell you. We are following our season five finale where things happened a little differently in our world than in cannon. Assume that some things from season six did transpire, such as Bobby reclaiming his soul from Crowley . The Campbell Clan, soulless Sam and rogue Castiel never happened, therefore season 7 doesn't exist ! I'm not one bit sad about having missed the boat on any of those plots. In Brotherhood timeline, Spear of Destiny takes place right after my story _Normal is Overrated._ It's a good idea to have read that one, as well as my story _Timing. _All of our Brotherhood stories are found at The Hunters Tomb in chronological order for those who may be new. I truly hope this was worth the wait, and again thank you for your faithfulness.

_RCJ_

"_Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect, as well as the star. Human beings, vegetables, cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper." _

_-Einstein_

Sam Winchester was having the oddest dream. He was on stage in front of a grand piano, his fingers poised above the keys. Sweat trickled from the base of his neck, sliding beneath the collar of his tuxedo. He could sense, if not see, the thousands of eyes glued on him from the audience, their hungry anticipation palpable. Sam's heart thundered in his chest as he realized where he was; what was expected of him. The sheet music might have well have been written in Acadian. Sam stood a better chance of deciphering some of the notes if they had been in coded in an archaic ancient language. As it was, he was clueless.

The bizarre thing about the dream was of all the terrible, frightening things Sam had experienced in his twenty six years, playing a piano solo for a sold out auditorium didn't even register on the spectrum. It was laughable. The situation should not have been included in his vast repertoire of nightmares that could have been. Perhaps that's what made it so scary. Sam was completely unprepared, out of his element.

He was startled when his fingers plundered the keys of their own volition, the piano belching out a painful screech of mismatched notes. Sam watched in horror, bound to the dream and the bench as his hands moved over the ivory in a falsely competent manner. His ministrations elicited a harmony only the tone deaf could tolerate. The audience's whispers swelled to a loud murmur, the grumblings peaking in a crescendo of disappointment and dissatisfaction.

Sam motions became more frantic, a manic Schubert impersonator without one ounce of talent or ability to match his elaborate grandiose charade. His fingers cramped from the strain, the pain flaring along his arms, radiating through his chest and back. He desperately willed the appropriate chords to become clear in his mind, for the concert to end as the burning in his right hand became unbearable.

To Sam's surprise a melody started to take form from the madness. The mismatched notes mashed together, climaxing in a tune that was so familiar it soothed Sam's anguish. He latched onto the chords, allowing them to lull him into a state of calm. He stared at the piano in wonderment, amazed at his sudden finesse only to find his fingers deathly still on the ivy. His right hand was fisted tightly against the black and white keys where his silver hunter's ring glowed unusually bright under the spotlight. To his puzzlement the music continued to play.

Sam looked up, blinking wildly as the audience faded against the dark blue walls of his bedroom. His heart thundered in time with the familiar song that still echoed around him. It took only a second for Sam to recognize Skynyrd's Sweet Home Alabama coming from the cell phone on his nightstand. He rolled over, reaching for it without thinking. He thumbed the talk button that would connect him with his brother.

"Dean?" He rested against the cool pillows, willing his heart to stay in his chest. He could still feel beads of sweat trickling down his neck, sliding between his bare back and smooth sheets.

"_Sammy? Are you alright?" _

Dean's voice was sleep coarse and held a hint of the fear Sam was valiantly trying to shake. A blurred view of the alarm clock told Sam it was just after five. No light seeped through the shades of his window yet, though the constant hum of the city beyond was starting its daily upsurge that would soon become a concert of background noises only Manhattan could pull off. He pushed himself up in the bed, fully alert now. "I'm fine."

"_Why are you breathing hard?" _

Sam held his breath for a beat, unwilling to alert Dean to his distress. After all, going back to school had been Sam's grand idea. The fact it was not working out as he planned was not only baffling, but embarrassing. _"_The phone startled 's wrong?"

"_You tell me." _

"Nothing's wrong." Sam held the phone closer, hoping his brother didn't pick up on the forced calm."I was sleeping." Sleeping was something he did very little of as of late, especially in light of his first semester at NYU winding down.

"_The Triad bat signal says different. Where the hell is Damien?" _

The unexpected reply had Sam looking down at his right hand. The cramping which he thought was brought on by his fierce piano playing now produced a completely different kind of panic and fear. Merlin's internal alarm system was still a novelty for the fledgling Triad. "Shit."

"_Sam?" _

Sam tossed his covers aside, his own worry fueled by the concern in Dean's tone. He crushed the phone to his ear as he grabbed the gun tucked beneath his pillow. "Give me a minute."

"_Is he home? Can you sense him?" _

Dean continued to pepper him with questions as Sam carefully made his way out his door and into the darkened hallway that would lead him to Caleb's room. He blocked out his brother's voice, stretching out with his abilities. It was like attempting a sprint without warming up. Sam had worked hard at not using his abilities, and now cursed them when they were slow to respond to his desires. He sensed no one else in the townhouse but he and Caleb. The psychic link to Caleb was strong, pulsing with an energy Sam couldn't quite read. He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could try his roommate's doorknob. It would only be locked if Caleb had brought home company the night before, which was entirely possible considering Sam had crashed early after an afternoon of cramming for finals had left him taxed and susceptible to the 'piano' dream.

"Caleb?" He called.

"_Just kick the damn thing in, Sam!" _

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's impatience and no hold's bar approach to all situations, pushing the door open a small slit when he got no answer from the psychic. Caleb's shades were up, the soft glow from the city casting the room in a maze of varying degrees of dark shapes. There was enough light that Sam could tell the bed was empty, blankets and pillows in disarray.

"Caleb?"

This time Sam's inquiry was answered with an audible groan from the other side of the bed. He could barely make out the outline of Caleb's outstretched hand as it flailed for purchase against the chair in front of the drawing desk.

"Dean, I need to call you back." Sam didn't wait for the protest he knew was coming. He clicked the phone off, placing it on Caleb's dresser as he made his way around to the downed hunter. "Caleb? Are you okay?"

Caleb had made it to his knees with the help of the chair, one hand pressed against the floor, the other cupping the right side of his head. "What the hell…" he hissed as Sam took a knee in front of him.

"That was going to be my next question." Sam eased Caleb's hand away. There was a large gash above his temple. It was bleeding freely, the brighter light from the window just above them revealing the right side of Caleb's face as a glistening mess. His t-shirt was splattered with blood and Sam followed the trail down to the floor where a startling size puddle shimmered below the edge of the drawing desk. "What happened? Did you have a vision?"

"Not likely," Caleb muttered, trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet. Sam kept him still with a hand on his shoulder. "I think I started for the bathroom."

"Take it easy." Sam held firm until the older hunter acquiesced, going from his knees to sitting flat on the floor. Sam guided him so his back was against the bed, then pointed a finger at him. "Stay put until I get the first aid kit."

Caleb didn't look up or answer, his hand going back to his head. Sam ran to the adjoining bathroom, grabbing the fully stocked kit from beneath the vanity. His cell was ringing again when he returned, but he ignored it in lieu of returning to Caleb.

"Deuce…" Caleb blinked up at him with glazed eyes. For an instant Sam was afraid his friend was completely out of it, mistaking him for his brother, but then Caleb gestured towards the dresser where Sam's phone gyrated over the surface. "He's calling you."

"For the second time." Sam breathed out a sigh of relief, reaching over Caleb's head to the desk. He turned on the lamp. "Triad alarm is in prime working order. The Guardian woke me up."

"Damn." Caleb blinked at the intrusive light, rubbing his thumb over his hunter's ring. "I can't get used to that."

"Join the club." Sam's cell had not finished ringing when Caleb's picked up from somewhere in his bed with an ACDC classic.

Caleb turned his head with a groan to search out the new tune. "Dean's freaked."

"He can wait." Sam gently forced his friend's head back around, folding a mound of bandages, which he used to press against the jagged wound. The gash looked worse in the light, bruising already forming from the edges. Caleb's cheek was red and puffy where he'd struck the floor. He'd be lucky if he didn't have a black eye to add to the mix. "Bleeding injury takes precedence over placating The Guardian. _You _can call him on the way to the ER."

"No ER, Runt." Caleb took over holding the bandage. "You can handle doctor duty here just fine."

"You haven't seen yourself, man." Sam jutted his chin to the sharp corner of the desk. Caleb must have stumbled getting out of bed, striking the surface before landing on the floor. An irrational worst case scenario rolled through Sam's thoughts like summer thunder at the farm. Despite logically knowing he could not have prevented Caleb's injury, Sam couldn't help feeling as if he'd been lax in his duty, had let something get past him. It reminded him of a wraith hunt from more than a decade past when just such an error on his part had nearly caused Caleb's death and he tried to shake off the foreboding the unpleasant memory brought. "Your desk and gravity did a number on you. Did you black out completely? Does anything else hurt besides your head?"

"Does my pride count? If I blacked out, it was only for a second." Caleb groaned swatting at Sam's probing hands. "The Knight of The Brotherhood is not taken down by furniture. It had to be a troll, maybe a gnome. They're notorious for prankster shit like this."

"Sorry to knock holes the size of the one currently in your forehead in that theory, but nothing's getting past the wards Joshua put on this place. The Knight of The Brotherhood is going to need stitches." Sam wasn't buying the idea that Caleb had been out for only a moment either. The pool of blood on the floor provided evidence to the contrary.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Good thing Mac taught us all how to do those tight and neat. I don't need any more scars to drive the women crazy. It's a full time job fighting them off as is."

Sam frowned at the older hunter's stubbornness, camouflaged in Caleb's typical cockiness. None of them liked hospitals but head wounds were not something to mess with, especially when they rendered one unconscious. Even John Winchester capitulated when it came to concussions. Caleb might have other unseen injuries. Sam would be in remiss of his obligation as The Scholar if he didn't remain the voice of reason, and if that long ago wraith hunt had taught him anything, it was that doing the harder thing from the get go was always the easiest course in the end. "You could have a concussion, man."

"See, you've already diagnosed me, Doc."

"Caleb."

"Sam."

"It's a bump on the head." Caleb winced when Sam pressed harder on the wound. "Nothing serious."

"I'm guessing Merlin's alert system doesn't do _'nothing serious'_. The Guardian doesn't get an all points bulletin when I cut myself shaving." There was still so much about The Triad Sam didn't know. He tried not to think too long on the aspects that could arise to surprise them. Sam didn't like unknown variables.

"It was a false alarm." Caleb's obstinate look turned pleading, a tactic made more effective by the fact Sam could feel the echo of pain rolling off the other hunter. Once his abilities were wide open, it was difficult to rein them back in. "You know our flight leaves at ten this morning. If we miss it, we'll have to drive or wait for standby."

"Meaning you're afraid the hospital will keep you." Without Dean's fear of flying to hold them hostage to four wheels and the interstate, Sam and Caleb had racked up major points by flying from New York to Louisville any chance they got. Sam was not ashamed to admit he loved the expedient travel, the indulgence of first class ride Caleb always insisted upon. But Sam had found another benefit, something even better than the promise of a quick delivery and absence of endless winding interstate. Sam had discovered there was a rush of normalcy to be found in the airport. Passing through security like cattle through a shoot was oddly reassuring. It offered anonymity. Sam was just another citizen, an average Joe as he waited out the time at the gate with all the other faceless travelers. Maybe it was the novelty of it all, or the fact that unlike travelling by car, flying was one aspect of everyday life that Sam could not connect to his childhood. It was a part of the new Sam- New York living, college attending, Scholar of The Brotherhood, Sam.

"Meaning Doctor Mackland Ames has everyone there bullied," Caleb was on the verge of petulant, demanding Sam's attention. "I know Dad has scribbled secret notes on my chart. I could go in there with a hangnail and they would keep me out of fear and awe alone."

Sam sighed, lifting the bandages to stare more closely at the wound now that the bleeding had slowed. Head wounds in general bled profusely, making even a small injury more ominous. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked, and Caleb made a valid point concerning their flight. Sam couldn't spare more than the few days they had planned at the farm; if he were completely honest with himself he shouldn't be going at all. "I'll do the stitches, but you're calling Dean afterward. If he doesn't buy your sob story, then I'm following his orders, and so are you, missed flight or not."

"Sounds fair." Caleb shrugged.

The gesture was one of forced nonchalance, but Caleb couldn't disguise the look of victory flashing in his gold eyes. Sam knew how that phone call would go. Caleb would glaze over the truth, soothing and disarming The Guardian's protective hackles with a well-placed but totally inappropriate bit of humor, a promise of a good story The Knight had been holding back for their upcoming meeting. It would undoubtedly involve a Riley exploit that would in all possibility be only half true. Caleb had made a game of inventing ridiculous scenarios for the young hunter that in no way could be completely accurate. The Knight knew his way around Dean's prickly side better than anyone, and it was testament to Sam's desire to head to the farm that he allowed Caleb the opportunity to dodge the hospital trip Sam's gut told him was called for. He hoped in this case that the path of least resistance, the easier out, for once might be advantageous.

"Of course you realize this means I get dibs on the window seat, no matter what." Sam took the antibiotic cream and suture kit from the box. He tossed the soiled bandages in the trashcan by Caleb's bed and exchanged them for clean ones. "You spring for lunch, drinks, and the rental car."

"I _paid_ for the tickets."

Caleb's rebuttal was half-hearted and they both knew it was only to save face. Sam waved the needle in front of Caleb. "Then let's call the rest payment for services rendered."

Caleb frowned at him. "Let's call it what it is, Doctor Hyde-blackmail."

Whatever guilt Sam felt had dissipated by the time they reached the farm. Caleb had rebounded quickly, recovering well enough to score their flight attendant's phone number, as well as charming the young woman at the rental car counter in Louisville into letting them have a standard for the price of a sub compact. Sam never failed to wonder at Caleb's eccentricity to be frugal over the oddest things, when he'd seen the man drop thousands on ridiculous things like baseball cards for Dean, an Elvis Presley relic for Bobby. The Knight was obviously alright. So much so that Sam wasn't worried by the fact Caleb slept the entire drive to Pastor Jim's, made longer by late afternoon traffic out of the city, not even waking when Sam stopped to pick up the pizzas from their old haunt Hal's and beer they promised to bring. He was however slightly concerned when Caleb was unfazed by the crunch of gravel under their tires and Boo's barking as Sam killed the engine.

"Caleb." Sam unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching over to shake the older hunter's arm. "We're here."

Caleb awoke with a start, his hands flailing for leverage as if he'd found himself falling yet again. Sam kept a hold of his arm, squeezing slightly. "Hey."

Caleb turned towards him, his eyes not quite focused. There was a moment before The Knight's guards erected completely that Sam sensed something alien to Caleb's make-up, an impression of unfamiliarity so strong Sam couldn't help but flashback to his earlier dream of the impromptu piano recital. "Sammy."

"Yeah. We're here." Sam let his fingers slide from Caleb's arm when the older hunter blinked, looking more with it. Enough so he managed an easy, albeit tired smile.

"About damn time." Caleb straightened in the seat, unfastening his seatbelt. He glanced in the backseat where the pizzas and beer were waiting. "I'm starving."

Sam glanced to the farm house. Lights glowed from the kitchen windows and he felt a pang of longing that had nothing to do with the grumble in his stomach. It had been nearly a month since they had been home, and only then for a weekend hunt that left Caleb injured by a nymph and Sam reeling from the revelation his brother had met someone, someone who proved more than a one night stand. Thanksgiving had brought Dean to New York, but Sam had been so behind on school he hadn't had the chance to spend much time with his brother. Hopefully, this break during dead week would allow them time to catch up, and after finals, Christmas wouldn't be far away. They were planning on spending it at the farm, like the old days.

"He's alone, if that's what you're worried about." Caleb's comment had Sam glancing his way, surprised The Knight had his door already open. Boo had also grown impatient. His upper body was inside the car, bulky paws resting across Caleb's legs. "We won't be walking in on any make-up hanky-panky."

"That's good to know." Sam would be remiss if he didn't admit he was conflicted by Juliet's decision to return to the farm and Dean just three weeks after she fled in the wake of an unexpected revelation about the things that go bump in the night. Sam had somewhat encouraged her return, even given her tips on what Dean liked, what would win him over. Now he wondered if that had been for the best. "I doubt if Dean's ready for us to cross paths with her again."

"Dean's not the only one." Caleb flashed him a knowing look that had Sam grabbing the keys out of the ignition with an annoyed huff.

"Should you really be trying to use your abilities after such a blow to the head?" Sam had a right to be protective of his brother. Years of being the one sheltered and watched after had earned him the license to reciprocate the favor. It wasn't that he didn't want Dean to be happy, to have a normal life. After all, Sam had been the one to encourage Dean to find Lisa, to start again, if the worst indeed happened with Lucifer.

"Why do you and Deuce always assume I have to rely on being psychic to know what goes on in Winchester land?" Caleb maneuvered Boo out of the car, unfolding himself in a manner that wasn't completely on par with his usual litheness. Sam blamed his stumbling gate on the long drive, unwilling to entertain the possibility he'd made a horrendous mistake.

"Maybe it's because we know a leopard doesn't change his spots." Sam made his way out of the car, grabbing his heavy jacket from the seat but not feeling the need to put it on. The early December air had a bite to it, but Kentucky seemed almost balmy in comparison to Manhattan where it had already snowed several times, blanketing the city in a white drape that seemed to rev-up anticipation of the fast approaching holiday.

"There's nothing wrong with positive changes." Caleb shot Sam a glance over his shoulder before opening the back passenger's door to claim the pizzas and beer. "You might want to embrace it yourself, maybe ask out that hot brunette from your study group."

"Is there even a need for me to call Pot and Kettle on that one?" Sam took his bag from the back, taking Caleb's duffel as well. He moved around the car, his gaze leveled on the older hunter. Sam was having a hard enough time dealing with normal people on a peer level. There was no way he was going to attempt any kind of leap to intimacy.

Caleb was notorious for wanting his family to remain static, for their lives to run the course of the familiar. Sam could not remember a time when The Knight had not been hyper vigilant in protecting the integrity of their close knit group. Sam, who had at one time wanted nothing more than to escape those binding family ties now, clung to the idea of maintaining them, relishing in the safety they provided. "Where was this sense of flexibility when Bobby started dating Ellen, or when Mac married Esme?"

"I don't think Juliet is an amateur wannabe hunter nor does she have a Joshua Sawyer in her closet." Caleb started for the farmhouse. "Besides, it's not like I'm suggesting Deuce elope with the woman."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't already thought about the place for the bachelor party or your best man's speech." Sam knew for a fact Caleb had been almost as pleased by Juliet's return as Dean. It hadn't been a surprise Caleb wanted his friend to be happy, but Sam wondered if Caleb would feel the same when he realized that Dean having a girlfriend meant Dean would have less time for his best buddy, and would have to abandon his post as wingman.

"I have no delusions of grandeur about being Deuce's best man." Caleb punched Sam's shoulder. "But I claim first dibs on godfather to his first born. I mean I've at least earned that position with years of playing second fiddle to you. After all, you'll be related by blood. I need the credibility to hold my own in the running for favorite uncle."

Sam stopped at the stairs of the screened porch giving Caleb a look he hoped conveyed his incredulity. "In case you haven't noticed, thanks in great part to your influence, Dean isn't exactly big on monogamy, nor is holy matrimony even a blip on his radar."

"That's the beauty of procreation, Runt." Caleb wasn't rebuffed. In fact, he grinned. "A guy doesn't have to get married to get the deed done. Deuce Junior is still a very real possibility, especially since Juliet came back."

Sam was still having a hard time with the idea of his brother dating one woman, let alone fathoming Dean becoming a parent with said woman. He waged Caleb's new found obsession with the next generation stemmed from a need to see the future seeded. "Is this about that time-travelling, body snatching kid, James?"

"No." Caleb's reply was quick and definitive. "I haven't even given that kid another thought."

"Right." Sam shook his head at the blatant lie. Caleb had done nothing but think about possible scenarios since James took leave. Sam, on the other hand, was too consumed with trying to cope with his present to fathom a glance into the very far future. "Could we just change the subject, please?"

He was spared Caleb's whim by Dean opening the kitchen door. "What the hell are you two ninnies doing out here? I heard you pull in ten minutes ago."

"Look, Sammy, Deuce missed us." Caleb stepped onto the porch, holding his arms out in mock anticipation of a hug. "He really, really missed us."

"Shut up, fugly." Dean pushed the screen door open wider, allowing Dill to scramble out. The pup danced around Boo, before launching herself at The Knight's boots. Dean moved towards Caleb's open arms, but only to snatch the pizza and beer from his friend. "I'm starving."

"If Pastor Jim was still around, he would have had a home cooked meal waiting on us," Sam joined his Triad on the porch where Dean gave him a quick once over. It might have looked hapless, but Sam recognized the patented head to toe scan. It left him feeling much like a child being regarded by his mother after a week at camp. He continued his teasing to quell the stir of homesickness that reared its ugly head. "He would have made something special like fried chicken or meatloaf."

"And dessert." Caleb joined in as he moved past Dean into the house. Boo and Dill followed, slipping past their owner on the slight chance they might be forced to stay behind on the porch. Harper Lee left his post by the fireplace, wagging his way to the door to greet them. "Jim would have made a great dessert."

"I have some Little Debbie's." Dean waved his brother in. "But neither of you are getting any now."

"That's okay." Sam moved ahead of his brother into the kitchen. Jim's hospitality had become a bone of contention for Dean. Hunters like Ethan and Eli loved to mention how Jim always had food waiting for them, a glass of sweet tea at the least. Even some of the old timers like Silas Fox had gotten in on the joke, taking to giving the current Guardian a hard time. None more so than Bobby Singer, who went so far as to present Dean with a housewarming present-a doctored door mat that read Unwelcome. "Caleb and I will just share the pie I brought you from Sweet Melissa's."

"Sweet Melissa's?" Dean's brow arched. "As in the bakery where Esme got the pies she had at Thanksgiving?"

"I picked it up yesterday." Sam placed his bag on the table by the pizza, giving a quick ear rub to Harper Lee. Dean loved two things about New York, the bars and the bakeries. Caleb had introduced his best friend to several of each over the span of years, but Sam had done his own recon work since moving to Manhattan. Sweet Melissa's in his opinion was far superior to Little Pie Company and Magnolia's. The idea to bring Dean his favorite dessert had struck him as he was leaving his last class yesterday, proof his brother had been on his mind more than he wanted to admit. "I even checked my bag at the airport just so I could bring it."

"He means _I _paid to check his bag. So, the pie is from me too."

"No, it's not. You wanted to eat it for breakfast."

"Just a piece."

"What are you two not telling me?" Dean folded his arms over his chest, although his eyes strayed to the bag and the promise of phenomenal pie. "What's wrong, besides Damien's messed up face?"

"Nothing's wrong." Sam could buy his brother a pie without recrimination. He bet Dean hadn't been suspicious of Juliet, gave her the third degree when she showed up with a treat from The Dinner Bell.

"And my face is fine," Caleb interrupted, self consciously touching his bruised cheek. "It's my head that's messed up."

"That goes without saying, Dude." Dean kept his eyes on Sam, but soon the discerning look shifted to something warmer, a decent imitation of his usual grin. He reached out and attempted to ruffle Sam's hair. "I guess little Sammy misses his big brother more than he wants to admit. I told you it would happen. Living with Damien in the city that doesn't sleep isn't all it's cracked up to be?"

"This is the last time I do something nice for you." Sam evaded his brother's touch, tossing his jacket on the chair. It irritated him that Dean could read his motives so well.

"And living with me is awesome." Caleb sat at the table and opened the pizza box on top. "You just wish you could be living the bachelor high life with us instead of carrying on this charade of building a respectable life for yourself."

"Respectable? Damn, you must have hit your head hard. If Pastor Jim was still around, I'd be living the life in Vegas right now." Dean took the seat by Caleb taking three slices for himself. He shoved a stack of pink forms out of his way. "Not stuck here doing crazy paperwork."

"Paperwork?" Caleb took one of the slips, studying it with a frown. ""The Brotherhood has invoices?"

"Invoices. Reciepts. Accounts payable." Dean bit into his pizza, chewing for a moment before taking a drink of his beer. "We even have an accountant on staff. Who the hell knew?"

"Mac, obviously. Isn't this more like a Scholarly job?" Caleb glanced up at Sam who took the remnants of the first pizza and made it to the seat on Dean's other side.

"Oh no." Sam saw the set-up a mile away. He was not going to be conned by the two bullies into taking on anymore responsibility, being on constant call for research advice was enough of a headache with his workload. "Dean's the one with the silver up his sleeve. Besides, Mac outlined the Scholar's role for me. Not once did he mention any kind of bookkeeping."

"Well, Johnny sure as hell didn't do any paper pushing." Caleb tossed the slip back on the pile. "Sorry, Deuce."

"I wasn't asking for any help, Damien." Dean dusted his hands together, having finished off his first slice while Sam and Caleb were denying accountability. "I have a whole Geek squad at my service, with Carolyn at the helm. I've just gone too long without a run in the field. Got any good Riley stories?"

Sam groaned. "Can we not make it through one meal without talking about hunting?"

"What would you rather we talk about, little brother?" Dean brought the second pizza box in front of him, slapping Caleb's hand when the older hunter tried to take the first few fresh slices. "The cute brunette in your nerd's anonymous group?"

"You told him about Heather?" Sam glared at Caleb. He was beginning to realize living with his brother's best friend was similar to being at boarding school, The Knight filling the role as house mom.

Caleb shrugged, unapologetic. "I tell him everything, Roomie."

"Heather?" Dean bobbed his eyebrows. "Do share, Sammy."

"There's nothing to tell, Dean." Sam had made the mistake of offering up the townhouse as a location for one study session. Caleb had returned early from a hunt and Sam had never heard the end of it, apparently neither had Dean. That would not be happening again. "Why don't you tell us about Juliet? Should we expect a house call from the farm's new veterinarian this weekend? I'm sure Icarus could use a good once over."

"I told her you two were coming home and she suddenly had the urge to spend the weekend in the woods, tagging some roaming wolves with radio collars."

Caleb snorted. "Sam obviously made a bad first impression on the good doctor."

"Me?" Sam groaned. "I wasn't the one threatening to bleed to death and succumb to a fatal poisoning. There was also the blatant flirting which was made even more ludicrous by your visage."

"That is exactly what I'm talking about." Caleb pointed a piece of crust at him. "You gave her the whole nymph spiel and copped to the snake venom. Not even my extreme good looks, half naked body and awesome charm stood a chance against you dropping the whole sordid truth at her feet in your completely pretentious scholarly rhetoric."

"Something obviously brought her back." Sam had defended himself all he was going to concerning the incident with Juliet. He had only been telling the truth. It wasn't like he was trying to run her off on purpose, well, not exactly.

"That something would be _my_ extreme good looks, naked body and incredible sexual prowess." Dean asserted with a wide grin. "With some more time I'm sure I can convince her that I'm worth the baggage I bring with me-namely you two goons."

"You make us sound like a couple of spoiled kids from your disastrous first marriage." Sam frowned at his brother, once again unsure he liked the changes that were taking place. "We were here first."

"That's not a bad analogy." If Dean noticed Sam was no longer joking he didn't let on. Instead he focused on Caleb. "So, Damien, was you drunk when you fell out of bed, or is it time you finally broke down and got some glasses, vanity be damned?"

Caleb reached up and touched the bandage on his forehead with a wince. "I was not drunk and I don't need glasses. It was a gnome I tell you-a wily bastard of a gnome."

Dean laughed. "Then I guess I'll have to have a little chat with our Advisor about his shoddy spell-work."

"Speaking of our Advisor, what's up with him?" Caleb took another bite of pizza, washing it down with a long gulp of his beer.

"You mean your big brother Josh hasn't been checking in regularly?" Dean cast a quick glance at Sam, before returning his focus to his best friend. "You know it wouldn't hurt younger brothers to do the dutiful daily phone call every now and then. Call him, Damien."

"I talked to Joshua yesterday." Sam was not going to take the bait Dean was so obviously dangling. He wasn't about to explain that talking to Dean every day did not make his transition to New York any easier, in fact it was a little like poking a wound he'd forgotten was there until the familiar pain flared, catching him off guard with its intensity. Instead, he'd branched out. Making friends at NYU had been harder than he thought, much harder even than his time at Stanford. It seemed he had even less in common with his peers these days than he did when he was eighteen. The familiar had been easier, so Joshua and Elijah had become somewhat constants in his new life. "He said something about Carolyn being under the weather."

"Then he's probably in need of a hunt as much as Deuce." Caleb put down his beer, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen to open his text. "I did some research on that Big Foot gig we've been talking about for years. Now may be the perfect time for The Triad and their Advisor to check it out. I'll send him a message that The Guardian has requested his presence at the farm, immediately."

"Did you just not hear me say Carolyn is sick?" Sam sighed.

"What better reason to get out of the house?" Caleb continued to type. "The honeymoon is probably on hiatus until she's on the mend. Women have weird hang-ups about sex when they're sick."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Did you really just say that?"

"What?" Caleb finished his text, putting his phone away before reclaiming his pizza. "It's true. Am I right, Deuce?"

"Damien's right, Sammy. Chicks don't feel sexy when they're hacking up a lung, toss in a runny nose or any kind of bathroom issues and it's a definite deal breaker."

"I know you two might find this hard to believe, but maybe Joshua wants to be there to take care of Carolyn, to honor that whole 'in sickness and in health' part of his marriage vows. He's not going to rush off for some spur of the minute hunt that has been on the back burner for years." Sam was pretty confident he had nothing to worry about when it came to Dean settling down. The whole Brotherhood might have been only a slight stumbling block for Juliet, but surely his brother's Neanderthal views would be a deal breaker of a different kind for a woman like the good doctor.

"I have never been more embarrassed for you than in this moment, Samantha." Dean shook his head, sadly.

"Me? I'm not the screwed-up one." Sam's rebuttal was interrupted by the beeping of Caleb's phone.

The Knight held up the screen to Dean, his face alight with familiar gloating. "Good to know at least one of our brothers isn't a complete pansy ass. Josh will be here first thing in the morning, maybe sooner if he can get the flight."

Dean picked up the last piece of pizza, cutting his gaze to Sam. "You were saying?"

"Never mind." Sam sighed, grabbing his beer. "You two are hopeless."

"Yet we get laid on a regular basis." Caleb lifted his drink in the air. "Hopeless seems to work for us, Deuce."

Dean rapped his bottle against Caleb's. "Yes it does, Damien."

"So, we're really going to go after Big Foot?" Sam preferred to discuss the inevitable upcoming hunt over his brother and Caleb's gloating. He had to admit a prospective job sounded preferable to the load of books waiting to be cracked. Now that he was back at the farm, NYU seemed light years away. Finals could wait a few days. "Are we even sure Big Foot really exist?"

"How could you forget Bobby's Minnesota story?" Dean looked aghast. "If Dad hadn't been there Bobby would have ended up as Big Foot's Bride."

"Bobby is always drunk when he tells that story," Sam felt the need to point out. "It always comes out sounding like a twisted, hunter's version of Deliverance."

"And that's different than his other interesting stories how?" Caleb finished the last of his beer. "Bobby's love of booze has never made them any less accurate."

Dean bobbed his eyebrows. "Although the amount of drink does tend to color the size of the Big Foot's di…"

"Do we even know how to kill it?" Sam interrupted his brother's sordid line of thinking before their conversation turned X-rated. It never failed to amaze him that Dean and Caleb could revert to adolescent versions of themselves at the drop of a hat, especially after a few weeks of separation. "Or where the last plausible sighting might have occurred?"

"That definitely falls into The Scholar's territory, but I have a few leads." Caleb put his empty down and stood. Sam felt the wave of dread rush over him just as he saw The Knight falter. "Let me get my journal…"

Caleb's voice trailed off, one hand coming up to his forehead as the other gripped the table for support.

"Damien?" Dean slid his chair away from the table, but didn't stand right away. His gaze was locked on The Knight. "You alright, man?"

"Just stood up too fast," Caleb said with a slight shake of his head. He gave Dean a sheepish smile. "I guess the beer didn't agree with me."

The words were no more out of his mouth when Caleb's face paled. The hand he was using to steady himself went to his stomach just before he made a quick exit from the kitchen. Sam listened to The Knight's footsteps echo down the hallway and the bathroom door slam shut. He met Dean's gaze.

"I'm guessing the pizza didn't agree with him either."

"What the hell, Sam?"

"Don't give me that look." Sam raised his hands in mock surrender, recognizing the accusation brewing in his brother's stormy green eyes. Caleb might have thought he was Sam's temporary keeper, but Sam knew Dean expected the same from him when it came to his best friend. Sam found it ironic how the wraith hunt kept clawing its way to the forefront of his mind as he remembered the promise he'd made his brother back then. "I told you I would watch out for him. You are the one who caved to his whole 'I'm fine, Duece. I don't need a hospital' plea."

"Only because you backed up his story." Dean stood, hands on hips as he looked towards the entrance to the living room where Caleb had disappeared. "That is obviously not fine."

Sam gathered the empty pizza boxes, tossing his left over crusts to Boo and Dill who were drooling in anticipation from their spots under the table by a snoozing Harper Lee. Sam made sure to save one for the aging beagle, who in the past would have never napped through a meal. He was determined not to let guilt take it's ugly hold. He'd done nothing wrong this time, been completely honest. "I told you how many stitches I used on him and that he was coherent. That was not an enthusiastic and glowing endorsement of good health."

"You think he needs to go to the clinic?"

Sam could feel his brother's worry thrumming through. Their close call with Lucifer had left deep fissures in them all, a sense of doom that was hard to shake despite their success in winning the war. Dean was still expecting the worst and it amplified his already overdeveloped sense of responsibility to take care of and protect his family. "I think you stand as bout as much a chance of getting him to go to the clinic as we stand of finding Big Foot."

"You could show a little faith in The Guardian Mandate, Sammy." Dean folded his arms over his chest, his frown of concern deepening into one of irritation.

"Sorry if I'm a little cynical after watching The Knight get his way on one too many occasion." Sam dumped the boxes into the trash, along with the empty beer bottles. He didn't blame Dean for caving to Caleb, after all Sam understood all too well how hard it was to say no to _his_ big brother. Dean held a power over him that didn't seem to lessen with age, or with the distance that New York provided. He imagined the situation was similar for Dean when it came to Caleb though no blood bound them. "It gives me a whole new appreciation for the times when Pastor Jim tried to play that same card with Dad."

"For the last freaking time, I'm not Pastor Jim and Damien sure as hell isn't John Winchester."

"All I'm saying is I don't envy you the task of doling out orders to Caleb."

Dean snorted. "Like you're such the good little soldier."

"Are you kidding me? You've been telling me what to do my whole life." Sam put the remaining beer in the refrigerator, surprised to find the ice box completely stocked. It was weird to think of his brother alone at the farm, cooking dinner after a day at the garage. The thoughts had a pang of longing echoing through his chest and he had to remind himself that it had been his choice to go back to school. He had definitely made the right decision for him and Dean, but that didn't make adjusting any easier. Sam took a few carrots from the vegetable bin, deciding a visit with Icarus would do him some good.

"I have had lots of practice." Dean glanced toward the living room again, resolve replacing any doubt. "Which is why it will be a piece of cake for me to tell the mule-headed ass hat barfing his guts out in the bathroom that he's making a run to the clinic before we hit the sack."

"Good luck with that. In case you've missed it, Caleb is not in the habit of being told what to do by anyone, not since Dad, and even then it was anything but easy." Sam moved to the table, leaving the carrots there in lieu of picking his and Caleb's bags up from the door. He'd put their things away and come back down, his obsessive streak stronger than his need to be out in the fresh air. "I'll be in my room unpacking. If we're heading out tomorrow I need to get in a marathon research session on this hunt after checking in on Icarus."

"Coward," Dean muttered, starting out of the kitchen.

Sam followed, looking forward to sleeping in his old room for a change. He was thinking fondly of his familiar, lumpy mattress and tattered feather pillow, even the prospect of having to share with Boo and Dill didn't sully his anticipation when he nearly ran into his brother, who had drawn up short after crossing into the living room.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean swore.

Sam managed to stop before colliding with Dean's back, his heart rate picking up with the spike in The Guardian's pulse. He tensed, dropped Caleb's duffel to free one hand in preparation for whatever startled his brother. "Dean?"

Dean stepped aside with a heavy exhalation, giving Sam room to enter and greet their unexpected and uninvited visitor. "What the hell happened to the freaking courtesy knock we talked about, Cas?"

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

The Spear of Destiny: Rise of the Dragons

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you so much to those who have reviewed and marked the story as a favorite. The kind comments and inquisitive questions have been a wonderful welcome back. I hope this longer than usual chapter shows my appreciation.

_Last week…_

"_Sonofabitch!" Dean swore._

_Sam managed to stop before colliding with Dean's back, his heart rate picking up with the spike in The Guardian's pulse. He tensed, dropped Caleb's duffel to free one hand in preparation for whatever startled his brother. "Dean?" _

_Dean stepped aside with a heavy exhalation, giving Sam room to enter and greet their unexpected and uninvited visitor. "What the hell happened to the freaking courtesy knock we talked about, Cas?"_

RCJ

'_We are but as the instrument of Heaven. Our work is not design, but destiny."_

_Lord Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton_

Dean had not planned on seeing Castiel again so soon. The angel had made their farewells after defeating Lucifer seem like a long goodbye, maybe even a final one. Sam must have assumed the same if the look of surprise on his brother's face as he came along side Dean was any indication.

"I didn't mean to startle you."Castiel took a step closer to them, his countenance as stoic and unrepentant as usual. "I took the fact you haven't shielded the farm from angels as what you call an open door policy."

"I wouldn't go that far." Dean grinned. In all fairness Dean hadn't taken the time to consider adding more protection to the farm in light of the lengths they had gone to during the past year. "I didn't exactly expect you or your brothers to be paying us a visit, Cas."

"Perhaps you should reconsider that line of thinking." Castiel glanced around the room. "It may not be safe for The Guardian to be so lax."

"Why does that sound like you're not here to sound your trumpet of joyous news?" Caleb entered the room from the hallway. He kept his eyes focused on Castiel as he made his way to Dean's other side.

Dean gauged his friend's pallor, recognizing the forced confident smirk The Knight flashed Castiel as he came along to stand slightly in front of Dean. The protective move was so typical and completely irritating that Dean would have sent a sharp elbow to his best friend's side when he reclaimed his spot if not for the fact he was afraid the idiot might fall over. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Damien. Since Cas dropped in for an unexpected social visit, he might as well make himself useful."

"This isn't a social visit, Dean. I need your help-I need the Triad's help."

"Okay, we could use your help, too- at least Damien could." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Sounds like a little quid pro quo."

"I'm fine." Caleb growled.

"He looks fine,"Castiel agreed without so much a glance in Caleb's direction.

"His head is screwed up." Dean understood Castiel's feelings about The Knight, but that didn't mean he had to accept it, especially in his home. "I've seen you fix much worse."

Castiel inclined his head. "I believed that to be a permanent condition of his personality and unfortunate genetics. It's not in my power to change the nature of a beast."

"Very funny." Caleb glared at the angel.

"I wasn't trying to be funny." Castiel stared back.

Dean caught Caleb's sleeve to keep him in place, gesturing a hand towards the stark white bandage on Caleb's head. "As you can see, Damien had a little trouble getting out of his bed this morning. In all likelihood he has a concussion. You work your angel mojo to take care of it and The Triad will be glad to hear out your most recent request."

"Very well." Castiel gave an impatient sigh, but stepped forward with a flap of his trench coat. He lifted a hand to Caleb's head. The Knight dodged his touch.

"Deuce, this is ridiculous." Caleb sent a glance in Sam's direction. Dean didn't even need to look at his brother for Sam to raise his hand in surrender.

"This sounds like a Knight and Guardian impasse, _Roomie_. Mac says it's best to let you two work those out on your own or else get used as an emotional pull toy."

"Coward."

Dean smirked as Damien echoed his earlier insult to their professing neutral Scholar. "Castiel uses his magic touch to fix you the quick and easy way, Damien or we load up, go to the clinic and sit in their ER for the better part of the night for them to give you the usual round of scans." Dean let him go. It was good to be The Guardian. "Your choice."

"That's blackmail."

Dean gave Sam a knowing grin. "I prefer Guardian Mandate"

"Its bullshit is what it is," Caleb grumbled, but stepped toward Castiel. "The last time I let Wings touch me I ended up time travelling to a not so pleasant past."

"I promise I have no desire to repeat that trip."Castiel lifted his hand and placed it on Caleb's head with a grimace. "It's not a pleasant experience for an angel to be in the same room with your kind, let alone touch one of you."

Caleb gave Dean a glower that promised retribution but held firm as the angel proceeded. The effect was usually instantaneous so Dean found himself frowning along with Castiel as the angel tilted his head to the right slightly, going so far as to reposition his hand along Caleb's temple.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Castiel met his gaze after a moment's hesitation. He lifted his hand from Caleb, taking a step back. "I'm not used to healing someone like him, but the concussion should be taken care of."

"Damien?" Dean looked up at his friend, who despite obviously being pissed at the insult had lost the gray-greenish quality to his skin. The bruises to his cheek and swelling around his eye had disappeared also.

"The headache's gone and I no longer feel like my stomach is trying to turn itself inside out." He tugged the bandage off, running a finger over the smooth unmarred skin beneath before glancing to Castiel. "I suppose I owe you a thank you for the saving me yet another scar."

"You can return the favor by filling the request I have for your services."

"What exactly does an angel need with us now?" Sam moved to the closest chair dropping into it with a wide yawn. "Lucifer is back where he belongs. We curtailed the apocalypse. You should be well…in Heaven."

Dean snorted at his brother's turn of a phrase. Maybe college was improving Sam's sense of humor. He took the edge of the chair Sam was sitting in; Boo leaning lazily against him as Dill suspiciously sniffed a circle around the angel. "He's right, Cas. Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you here?"

"Heaven hasn't exactly fared well since Lucifer and Michael's demise."

"What do you mean?" Caleb knelt to scoop up the pup when Dill retreated to his side after her taste test of Castiel's shoes resulted in an obviously unpleasant result. Dean wondered briefly how animals seemed to sense no trace of evil from Caleb that Castiel claimed emanated like a demonic aura.

"It would seem that God has taken leave."

"Taken leave?" Dean's mind quickly shifted gears, his ponderings about his best friend instantly forgotten in lieu of Castiel's revelation. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that anarchy has arisen."

"You're saying there's no sheriff in town. God's missing?" Caleb took a seat on the coffee table, Dill curling on his lap.

"It would appear that way and there are several vying to take His place." Castiel paced to the fireplace, his gaze lingering on the pictures held there. "Raphael for one. Our brothers are divided. There's a war taking shape."

"Great. Another war." Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, feeling as if their current streak of luck was about to change. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and here it was-falling directly from above them. "That's all we need."

"Earth's demise was nothing compared to what will come to pass if Heaven is taken by Raphael and his followers. We will all be at this mercy, and trust me when I say he knows nothing of forgiveness. Your part in thwarting the apocalypse will not be forgotten, nor will mine."

Dean felt a pang of empathy for Castiel. He might not have understood everything about angels, but he understood brotherhood and family, the pitfalls those unbreakable bonds could bring. "You're not going to let that happen."

"I have been holding my own, but I'm afraid Raphael is up to his old tricks. He's looking for an advantage. One that could sway the battle in his favor."

"What would that be?" Sam asked, leaning forward. For the first time since returning to the farm Dean witnessed a spark in his brother's eye, a familiar gleam he hadn't seen often since the months leading up to their showdown with Lucifer.

"Weapons."

"And what type of weapons would an angel want to get his hands on?" Dean didn't like the fact Castiel was once again needing their help to thwart an impending war. It was far too similar to the epic battle they had narrowly avoided only months before. Dean wanted their normal life back, the typical supernatural baddies they had fought for years without the interference of ethereal beings. "I thought the angel blade thingy was the only thing that worked on you guys?"

"There are other ways of gaining power over ones enemies other than killing them." Castiel lifted his gaze to the ceiling a look of irritation coloring his typically placid features. "I haven't got much time to explain. I need to get back before my location is tracked."

"Okay." Dean was willing to oblige. "What are you talking about here, Cas?"

"I'm talking about a weapon that allows its owner absolute sovereignty, supremacy over their foe-a Biblical artifact."

"Like the Staff of Moses?" Sam leaned forward further, his elbows resting on his knees.

Dean stared at his brother. "Seriously, Sam? Why not throw the Holy Grail out there, too."

Castiel didn't share Dean's incredulity. "The Grail and Staff are also unaccounted for, but it's the Lance of Longinus that I'm most concerned with at the moment. Raphael is intent on finding it for himself."

"Wait." Dean made a slashing motion with his hand. "There really is a Staff? The stick Moses used to part the sea?"

"It has other abilities besides ruling over water, but it is the Lance I'm hoping you will help me retrieve."

"Are you talking about The Holy Lance?" Caleb returned Dill to the floor, pushing her towards Boo as he stood. "The spear used to pierce the side of Jesus after he was crucified?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded. "They are one in the same."

"Like in the movie Constantine?" Dean didn't particularly care for the film, considering it had far too many parallels to their lives. Unlike Caleb who liked to identify with the psychically tormented John Constantine, Dean didn't want to dwell on the fact he shared similarities with Keanu Reeves character -such as going to and returning from Hell, although after the past year he could relate with the film's dark portrayals of angels.

Castiel frowned. "I have no idea."

"I forget the only movies you've cared to watch in your lowly station as a human involved love triangles with mooneye teens, vampires and werewolves." Dean made a rolling motion with his hand. "So how does one go about losing something like The Spear of Destiny?"

"The Spear has never resided in Heaven. Like most objects of power it has been stored on earth, hidden in obscurity, watched over by appointed groups throughout history."

"Groups like The Knights of The Round Table?" Caleb asked.

Dean was quite certain his best friend would never outgrow his infatuation for chivalrous tales. "You'd love that wouldn't you, Damien. You and every other Indiana Jones fan."

"It's not a far reach, Dean," Sam spoke up, Scholar mode in full effect. "Look at the items The Brotherhood has had in their possession over the years."

"A few magical talismans and some supernatural blades aren't exactly in the same league as The Arc of the Covenant, Sammy."

"Sam's right." Castiel took a closer step to Dean. "Guardians of past have been charged with the keeping of sacred artifacts-the Spear included. It's why I need you for this mission. It's also why you should take precautions that Raphael doesn't find you."

"I'm sorry to disappoint, Cas, but I can promise you there's no Holy Lance in The Hunter's Tomb." Dean was working his way through all the past Guardian's journals, but had not come across any mention of such objects.

"Wait," Caleb held up his hand. "Are you saying Dean's in danger?"

Castiel ignored Caleb's question, continuing to address Dean. "I know it's not currently in your care, but as The Guardian of The Brotherhood you are one of the few that can rightfully claim it without repercussions."

"Come again?" Dean folded his arms over his chest. He was still trying to get used to all the responsibilities that being The Guardian brought. He did not need this new element. "What do you mean I can claim it? You're honestly telling me The Brotherhood was charged with the care of The Holy Lance?"

"The Lance has been exchanged by many over the centuries, stolen and possessed by both evil and good. People with a thirst for domination are able to benefit from its power to some degree, but only a select few can wield it to its potential-those given sovereignty over its care, such as The Guardian. When it is in a rightful protector's care it is either static or it can be at its most powerful."

"So it's not just The Lance of Longinus that you need, but Dean to make it work the way it's supposed to?" Sam stood, coming alongside Dean.

"That doesn't sound like a safe position to be placed." Caleb's voice took on a harsher tone, his patience for Castiel fading. "This is shaping up to be too much like the whole Sword of Michael gig for my liking."

"Dean would not be directly involved in battle, but his allegiance to our side would be necessary. I cannot rightfully claim the artifact or benefit from it unless it is entrusted to me by one of its caretakers." Castiel cut his gaze to Caleb for only a moment before returning them to Dean. "I assumed that after all we have been through he would have my back."

Dean shook his head at the angel's atypical phrasing, though the sentiment was nice. After Damien, Castiel was the closest thing to a normal friend Dean had experienced. "That goes without saying, Cas. Damien just needs clarification that this gig isn't going to call for some kind of major sacrifice. I'm not up for being a pawn again in another holy family throw down. I have other responsibilities now-people who depend on me."

"I can't promise you that things will not become perilous, especially if Raphael also discovers where The Lance is, but the alternative outcome is far worse. If he is able to claim The Lance and shift things to his favor, the end result will be disastrous for everyone on earth and in Heaven."

"Wait." Sam held up his hand. "You know where the Spear is?"

"I have a general area, yes."

"Then why can't you just 'angel' on over there and get it yourself?" Caleb asked. "Bring it here, and let Deuce give you his blessing on the thing, and be done with it?"

"I'm being closely watched. I took a risk in coming here. If I go searching for Longinus's Lance then I am bound to draw attention to its location. You three cannot be tracked by angels."

"Thanks to you bestowing your angel cloak of invisibility?" Dean subconsciously placed a hand on his chest, remembering the markings that Castiel had magically carved into their ribs. The protection had likely saved their lives on many occasions they weren't even aware. It was just yet another facet that made them an unusual Triad. "You calling in markers, Cas?"

"I'm only reminding you that you have an advantage that I do not. I'm not asking you to join in my war, Dean, only to secure The Lance." Castiel took a step towards Dean, his eyes holding a hint of desperation Dean hadn't recalled even in their darkest moments with the impending apocalypse. "Please, do this for me. Help me hold the ranks until my Father returns."

"Are you sure God's coming back?" Caleb asked.

"Yes." Castiel's answer was unwavering.

Dean shared a quick look with his brother and then The Knight, who's frown told him just what Caleb thought concerning what The Guardian was about to do. He returned his gaze to Castiel. "Where do you need us to go?"

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Tennison, Georgia." Sam used his iPad to pull up the map he'd studied last night until the wee hours of the morning.

Joshua lifted a brow, leaning over to consider the territory. "I don't mean to call your apt research skills into question, but since when has Big Foot expanded his roaming grounds to include small college towns and suburbs in the South?"

"I told you on the phone we weren't going after Big Foot, Josh." Caleb spoke up from the front seat of the Impala, where in Sam's opinion he'd unfairly claimed shotgun by pulling the carsick card. Dean had pretended to be concerned for the Impala, but Sam knew it was just more evidence that The Guardian and The Knight were in collusion. "We're going after The Holy Lance."

"And I thought I was once again being assaulted by your ill humor or even worse in jeopardy of falling victim to one of your and Dean's bizarre practical jokes?" Joshua met Sam's gaze, a flicker of mutual annoyance flashing in his blue eyes. Sam was beginning to understand how a common enemy in this case his brother and his best friend could bring about very strange bedfellows.

"He wasn't joking." Sam ran his finger over the screen of his tablet, pulling up one of the many images he'd found on The Holy Lance.

"So we're exchanging one ludicrous endeavor for another. Splendid." Joshua took the computer and sighed. "Both are preposterous legends, I suppose it doesn't matter what I think, as The Guardian rarely tends to take my advisement under serious consideration despite that being the primary purpose of my functionality in this indentured relationship."

"Look Deuce, he's only been married a few months and he's already transformed into a whiny little bitch."

"What are you talking about, Damien? The Momma's Boy was always a whiny little bitch."

Sam shook his head, taking the computer back from Joshua. "As you can see, they've missed you terribly. Caleb couldn't wait to call you and that was before we actually had a legitimate hunt."

"If that's the case I suppose you're also glad I'm here to deflect some of your brother's smothering attention? Carolyn tells me he still hasn't come to grips with you living in New York and behaves like a heartsick puppy when you're out of his sight. He's out of sorts for days after your visits."

Sam shifted his gaze to the front seat, catching his brother's glare in the rearview mirror.

"Mine and Carolyn's conversations run the scope of Brotherhood business," Dean growled. "Business she is not supposed to share with anyone, including her nosy, big mouth, not-so-better half."

"My wife is quite good at reading subtext, and quite terrible at keeping her intuitive empathetic concerns to herself when it comes to those she cares about." Joshua shifted, flashing Sam what could only be a satisfied smirk. "She would never break a Brotherhood confidence, but her personal worries are quite another story. Believe me when I say I look forward to her laments about your pining for Sam and her speculations about your budding feelings for the veterinarian you are currently courting as I do a visit to the dentist or say a road trip with the three of you."

"Courting?" Caleb laughed. "You're courting now, Deuce?"

"Shut up, Damien." Dean turned on The Knight. "At least Carolyn isn't worried that I'm going to end up an eccentric bachelor that her and Josh's kids will have to introduce as crazy old 'Uncle Caleb' with all the cats."

"What the hell? Carolyn didn't say that. I don't even like cats."

Sam ignored the growing argument in the front as Joshua leaned closer to him, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've discovered over the years that divide and conquer works every time with those two."

"Sneaky."Sam nodded his approval, seeing yet another reason why aligning himself with The Advisor might be advantageous.

"Now tell me more about this preposterous hunt I've been dragged into. The only thing I took away from my airport phone call with Caleb was a bunch of ridiculous ramblings about Knights of the Round Table. Do they honestly believe the legendary Spear of Destiny is in this town called Tennison?"

"They have good reason." Sam returned his attention to the tablet pulling up the research he'd compiled after Castiel's visit. "Tennison, Georgia went from seedy cesspool on the outskirts of Atlanta to one of the top ten suburbs to raise a family within a two year span. It seems their mayor has ambitions of riding the wave of good publicity all the way to the senate floor."

"You believe this miraculous transformation has more to do with The Holy Lance than with the mayor's superior leadership and the city's top notch Neighborhood Watch Patrol?"

"It fits with what Castiel said about the spear and with the general location he gave us." With phone calls to Bobby and Riley, Sam was able to cross reference Castiel's information with Brotherhood history and lore. He'd come across some revelations of his own in The Tomb, and didn't mind one bit that he'd been too busy to think about school and the paper for Conflict Resolution that he should have been outlining instead. "As you can imagine there are about a hundred different legends and speculations surrounding The Lance and its true powers."

Joshua nodded. "I did some preliminary search on my cell. It has the reputation to grant the holder with the ability to conquer their enemy, as well as promising an ill fate to those who lose possession. Many great military leaders supposedly used the lance through the years and met suspicious ends, including the likes of Charlemagne, Constantine the Great, and Frederick Barbarossa."

"Don't forget Adolf Hitler." Sam handed the tablet to Joshua once more. "He committed suicide on the very day that the US forces found the spear."

"Ah yes, the part where history blurs the lines of a Stephen Spielberg movie script." Joshua's gaze briefly went to Caleb who was still arguing with Dean before scanning the notes before him. "Caleb made a point of emphasizing the part where Hitler took the spear from a museum in Vienna after his rise to power, supposedly because he'd been bewitched by its power years earlier during his time in the city as a young painter. I in turn pointed out how many strange and twisted individuals throughout history have been artists."

Sam snorted. "Interestingly enough Hitler seems to have been the catalyst for the last time The Brotherhood might have intersected with The Spear of Destiny."

"Really?" Joshua raised a brow. "You've found proof that The Brotherhood actually possessed this artifact at one time?"

"Castiel told us that the person who took the lance during World War II was a hunter."

"You don't expect me to believe that General George S. Patton was a hunter? I know Pastor Jim liked to spin many tales about our famous peers, the likes of which he would have us believe included not only two past presidents but a few nefarious scoundrels such as Billy the Kid and Jessie James if I'm not mistaken." Joshua favored Sam with a patented disappointed look. "After outgrowing the whole dragon nonsense you have proven to be the more logical of the pastor's protégé's."

"Dean swears Lincoln's journal was in the ones he inherited from Jim." Sam was unwilling to yet again bring up the fact that both Billy the Kid and Jesse James's journals would have been a part of the ones lost in Wyoming if they were in fact true hunters, and their actions misconstrued by history as Jim explained. He and Joshua had had this particular debate before but now was not the time to rehash Brotherhood trivia. "But I'm not saying that Patton was one of us."

"That's good to know," Joshua sighed. "I'm having a hard enough time processing the fact we are going after an artifact used to pierce the side of Jesus, as if dealing with angels and Lucifer last year were not enough. I find myself longing for the days when we only came face to face with things found in children's fairytales and the occasional demonic force."

"Patton wasn't the person who found the spear." Sam reclaimed his iPad, pulling up the database Riley had sent him last night. The fledgling hunter and Bradley had taken it upon themselves to put together a family tree of past Triads. Bradley was actually tying it into his Master's thesis in anthropology. Unlike Riley's new line of Brotherhood graphic novels and trading cards, it was proving to be useful. "It was Walter William Horn, a lieutenant in the U.S. Army under Patton's command."

"Wait, William Horn? Why does that name sound familiar?" Joshua asked.

"Because Will Horn was a Knight in The Brotherhood, your grandfather's predecessor." Sam showed Joshua the picture of Horn and his Triad. "Maxim Sawyer succeeded Will Horn in 1963, when Julian Smith's Triad officially took over after Seacor died unexpectedly from a stroke and his Knight and Scholar conceded."

"So Lt. Horn was the one who discovered the spear, which gives credence to the theories many have held over the years that Patton did not deliver the true lance back to the Hofburg Museum in Vienna, but a clever fake."

"We're guessing that Horn recognized the spear for what it was and delivered it to his captain who was no other than Henry Seacor." Sam tapped the picture of the grinning man standing next to Horn in the scanned black and white photo of the three uniformed soldiers. "The former _Guardian_, Henry Seacor."

"And I suppose this third gentleman is no other than their Scholar?"

"You guessed it, Corporal Felix Clemmings." Sam slid a finger over the screen, showing a page of Seacor's journal that Dean had reluctantly let him scan from his collection of past Guardian's journals. "It's no coincidence that Seacor and his Triad were in Germany during the raid that fateful day."

Joshua rubbed his face. "Did Seacor actually write about switching the spear, about what he might have done with it once they returned stateside?"

"Not specifically." Sam enlarged the section he'd highlighted, letting Joshua read the account for himself. "He wrote in generalities, saying his Triad had helped secure the most important artifact of his time, and helped herald the destruction of a great evil the likes of which The Brotherhood had never seen."

"If Seacor did indeed have the spear, shouldn't The Brotherhood have become more successful in its endeavors to conquer the enemy? If prophecy held true, Seacor's Triad should have been much more successful than it was. They should have had a much longer run than the typical twenty or so years."

"From what Castiel said The Spear remains neutral when possessed by someone ordained to protect it, unless that person willfully acts to use its power. Then The Spear is at its most powerful."

"So we are to accept that Seacor refrained from using it to serve his purposes?"

"The lance that pierced the side of Jesus during his crucifixion doesn't exactly give off the warm and fuzzy vibe. It makes Echnon's blade and Azazeal's amulet look like pixie dust." Dean rejoined the conversation his eyes briefly meeting Sam's in the rearview before going to Joshua's. "No Guardian worth his salt would risk using something that powerful, no matter what the gains."

"Isn't that exactly what Castiel is asking you to do?" Joshua questioned.

"Listen to the wise words coming out of your extremely intelligent Advisor's mouth, Deuce."

"Five minutes ago you were calling my Advisor a whiny little bitch, Damien."

"So, I'm fickle, doesn't make my point any less valid." Caleb turned to Sam, then Joshua. "For the record, I hate this plan."

"Assuming the former Guardian took the higher moral road," Joshua interrupted the response Sam could see brewing in his brother's green gaze. "I still don't understand how an artifact of such magnitude ended up in Tennison, Georgia. Should it not have been passed to the care of the next Triad?"

"Seacor probably thought he had more time. Julian hadn't been studying with him very long when Seacor died from a stroke. "

"Still, it seems his Triad would have made provisions to take care of his estate, especially considering the magnitude of what it held."

"Past Triads haven't always proved to have the greatest of foresight, especially if they have just acquired a great victory. Seacor's Triad helped bring about the end of World War II. There was probably a great shift in the balance of good and evil, and all seemed perfect in their regime."

"We know that never works out well in the end," Dean added. "Look what a great job Julian, Maxim and Victor did preparing their successors."

"It's not like Guardians keep a running list of all the items in their respective care, even Pastor Jim was remiss in acknowledging what he had," Sam added. Jim Murphy was a great man, an incredible Guardian, but his Triad was far from the standard The Brotherhood demanded. Their atypical coming together had carried over to the next generation. Dean had little or no preparation from Jim. Sam often wondered how differently their lives might have turned out if Meg hadn't murdered the pastor in her crusade to destroy the Winchesters.

"Although Sammy is trying hard to change that," Dean spoke up, meeting Sam's gaze in the rearview once more with a half-hearted smile that hinted he knew exactly what Sam was thinking. "He wants to inventory The Tomb, make up wills for us all and go as far as to name our successors in writing."

"That's a waste of time," Caleb huffed. "We're going to be the longest running Triad in Brotherhood history. We've got decades to worry about the next generation."

"Case in point." Sam rolled his eyes. "Spoken like a true egomaniac who wrongly believes himself invincible, the curse of many past Triad members I'm sure."

Caleb ignored him. "Even if Seacor's Knight and Scholar had known the whereabouts of The Lance, it would have been the last thing on their minds after Seacor was gone. An inventory of artifacts and an instruction manual for the new Guardian wouldn't have helped them one damn bit."

Sam didn't need to see Caleb's face to feel the surge of shared grief. They both understood too well what it was like to lose a Guardian, even if they hadn't formally been the Triad when Dean had been killed by the hell hounds.

"I believe Sam was trying to answer my question as to why we're going to Tennison." Joshua shifted, making the fact he sharply kicked the back of Caleb's seat seem like an accident. "Unless you want to enlighten us with more fantastical tales about Knights of the Round Table?"

"Suck me," Caleb growled.

"I think that's your cue to continue, Sam." Joshua gave him another satisfied smirk and Sam couldn't help to think Joshua was settling into his role as a big brother quite nicely.

"Dean scoured Julian's journal for any mention of The Lance but found only brief details of his transition to Guardian. He did note that Seacor's wife and daughter remained in Seacor's childhood home, which was on the outskirts of Atlanta. I think it's possible the spear might have been hidden there and possibly kept among his personal estate. His daughter never married and went to an assisted living facility a few years ago. The home was auctioned off by the state for taxes."

"Seeing as Seacor heralded from Atlanta and Julian's ties to the man, did anyone think to contact Griffin Porter about the matter? He was close with Julian and his family has been hunters for generations, so I imagine he would have crossed paths with Seacor, in fact Griffin more than likely received his ring from him."

"Bobby had that same stroke of genius, but we thought we'd let you do those honors since Griffin likes you best." Caleb turned in his seat to look at Joshua. "Maybe he'll even offer up his nice mansion as a place for us to crash while we're so close by."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing The Knight would sleep in the car before accepting hospitality from Griffin Porter. The man had a hand in saving both their lives when the vampires had kidnapped them for a spectacular lynching, but Caleb was not the forgiving type especially when a loyalty to The Brotherhood had been breached. "I think giving him a call couldn't hurt."

Joshua pulled his phone from his pocket. "I haven't spoken with him since the wedding but considering his interest in Brotherhood lore, I don't doubt he would be willing to accommodate us with any information he might possess. The man loves to spin a tale almost as much as Jim Murphy did."

"Let's not forget his fondness for anything with prospective power or his propensity to kiss Guardian ass and hold court any chance he gets." Caleb returned his gaze to the front of the car. "Griffin would give his right arm if he thought it would win him favor with Deuce, or wheedle his way back into Ethan and Eli's good graces."

"You got a better idea, Damien?"Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to send a challenging glare to his best friend.

"We could start with what I dug up on Tennison's Mayor Jameson. I don't think his taking office about the same time that the city made its miraculous turnaround is a coincidence."

"We'll get to that, man. I just think finding out a little more about Seacor could pay off in the end,"

Sam leaned into the space between the two front seats to give Joshua a modicum of privacy for the call. "Especially if Griffin can shed some more light on The Lance."

"It's a holy relic that warring factions of angels want to get their hands on. What else is there to know?" Caleb folded his arms over his chest, resting against the seat and staring out the passenger window. "The sooner we find it and turn it over to Castiel, effectively taking Deuce off Heaven's most wanted list yet again, the better I'll feel."

"Is that what you're going to do with it?" Sam studied his brother's profile, picked up on his sudden spike in emotion followed by the tensing of his hands on the steering wheel. "Let Castiel take it?"

"I seriously doubt if I can destroy the thing. If that were the case, Seacor would have probably done the deed."

"Sam and I got rid of Seaver's amulet." Caleb shifted. "There could be some sort of Triad spell to strip its power if that's what you want to do."

Dean sighed. "How about we actually find it before we debate on what we should do with it."

Sam didn't have time to point out that having a plan beforehand would be nice because Joshua interrupted his train of thought.

"Griffin is expecting us at his home for dinner at six. He hopes the Guardian likes aged bacon wrapped filets as he just got an early Christmas package from Eli and wants to share."

"The Guardian likes almost anything wrapped in bacon," Dean replied.

"Did you explain we were on a tight schedule, Josh?" Caleb grunted.

"Speak for yourself, Damien." Dean rapped his hands happily on the steering wheel. "I could eat."

"You'd eat with Death himself, Deuce if he was serving two hundred dollar beef."

"Damn straight."

"You can always drop us there and search out those nefarious golden arches that seem to have a siren call for your peasant pallet." Joshua returned his phone to his jacket and settled in for the five hour ride that Sam estimated should have them to Atlanta. "Considering Griffin's thoughts about The Knight, and certain Knights in particular, I'm sure our gracious host would not miss _your_ company in the least."

"Which is exactly why I'm going to choke down the bastard's grain fed beef and fifty year old scotch with a fucking grin on my face." Caleb shot Sam a glance. "But you're switching plates with me, Runt. I can't afford to be laid up with food poisoning during this trip."

Sam slumped back into his seat with a sigh. Writing a paper was starting to look a whole hell of lot better than it had only yesterday. "Just call me the royal taster."

"I believe the appropriate title now is most auspicious sensory panelist."

Sam flicked his gaze to Joshua, not missing the hint of amusement in The Advisor's blue eyes or his half smirk. "Thanks for the clarification."

"Informative advisement-that's what I'm here for."

"And Caleb and Dean said you were hoping to get out of the house to escape Carolyn because the honeymoon was over." Sam might have found himself liking Joshua, but old habits were hard to break. It was nice to see Josh falter, his mask of confident arrogance slip slightly before quickly recovering.

"We both know Caleb and Dean are ill-refined baboons with the emotional range of cavemen." Joshua tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. "They know nothing about relationships, despite their self-proclaimed prowess with women. I happen to love my wife and I adore our new life. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that I want to run away from."

Sam held his gaze, not needing to use his abilities to read the underlying untruths in that statement. After all, he had been telling the same kind of lies for months. _I love school. It's just like I remember. Classes are great…people are awesome. _It seemed he and Joshua had more in common than merely besting Knight and Guardian. "I hear you man. Life is perfect."

Joshua nodded. "Of course it is."

Sam broke away, returning his focus to the blur of scenery outside his window. "Just fucking perfect."

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

The Spear of Destiny: Rise of The Dragons

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: As always, thank you for the amazing reviews and alerts. I have stopped watching the show, but writing for you all again has brought back some of that old magic I loved so much. I have been struggling with for days so please excuse the lateness.

RCJ

"_We are not here on earth to change our destiny; but to fulfill it." –Guy Finley_

Caleb could almost give Griffin Porter credit, the man had taste, or at least the money and sense to employ people who helped him achieve the illusion. His house, like many of the others in the historic neighborhood of Grant Park, was a stunning tribute to the Victorian period. Griffin's home brought to mind some of Caleb's favorite haunts in New York, as well as the South End in Boston, and Cabbagetown in Toronto.

"Let me guess, Damien- you've got a hard on for Griffin's house?"

Dean came around from the driver's side, pausing at the passenger door where Caleb was still standing looking up at the grand structure before them. With its gable backlit by the early December sunset, the ornamental manor was not the place Caleb envisioned Griffin residing. Tucked into the neat corner lot, sporting patterned masonry, red brick drive, and stately wraparound porch draped in holly and crimson bows, it gave off a vibe of warmth and welcoming.

In Caleb's opinion, Griffin was more the type to dwell in a sterile condo or better yet, beneath a bridge suiting a troll. He shot Dean a grin. "It's Queen Anne, circa 1880. Not to be confused with some of the others we passed on the way in, which are clearly Gothic Revival. The steep roof, complicated asymmetrical shapes, and decorative spindles and brackets set it apart. She's a beauty."

"I knew it," Dean shook his head with a heavy sigh. "You've got that same glazed over look you had when you dragged me to look at all those jaded lady houses in New Orleans this summer."

"Painted Ladies, Deuce." Caleb stepped away from the car resolved to his fate. He rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times to relieve the blurred aura he blamed on looking up at the skyline for too long. "And it was only fair considering I'd let you hang out with all those _naked_ ladies in that burlesque show the entire night before."

"If I recall, _that _exhibition held a mutual appreciation for us, unlike your little architectural tour, which was absolutely no fun for yours truly."

"Relationships are all about give and take, Dude. Try to rally some of the fake enthusiasm I mustered at the Baseball Hall of Fame." Caleb slapped Dean on the back, knowing his friend was trying to distract him from the reality they would soon be dining with Porter. Caleb understood on some level Dean's decision to give the man another chance, to embrace a new era after taking charge of The Brotherhood. Giving back a ring that Jim Murphy had taken was somehow poetic. Griffin had seemingly turned over a new leaf, and Dean understood second chances better than most but Caleb had a hard time accepting the man as a brother-in-arms and not the hated manipulative enemy he'd revealed himself to be all those years before. "And let's not forget that I'm agreeing to have dinner with the devil."

"I've met the Devil. Griffin doesn't hold a light."

Caleb forced a tight smile. Dean didn't remember much of what happened when Griffin had them kidnapped and tortured. Caleb couldn't forget the things Porter had done, or said. Until his taunts, Caleb's history had merely been the ramblings of one mad man. Daniel Elkins may have been a monster who stalked his nightmares, but Griffin Porter was all too real. At the time, Caleb had not met a man he deemed more evil. "Let's just hope Porter's good taste holds true on the inside, especially in the kitchen."

"His surroundings obviously meet your architectural geek side's approval, maybe you'll be surprised by how things go."

Caleb followed Dean's gaze over the immaculately trimmed yard, past the sculpted hedges to the road beyond where a flash of black caught his eye. The image doused any delight he took in a beautiful old house and drowned out Dean's attempts to make the evening seem somewhat promising. The dying rays of sun reflected off the shiny surface and at first Caleb was certain it was a trick of light, but then the outline of the vehicle solidified from the shadows, revealing the truck that should have been safely locked away in the barn at the farm. Even more surprising was the silhouette of the figure resting against the grill.

"What the hell…" Caleb muttered, taking an involuntary step backwards. He barely registered Dean's voice as his mind tried to process the fact John Winchester was standing not more than fifty yards from them. He blinked, fully expecting the ghostly form to be gone when he opened his eyes again. His mentor was still there, faded green coat, bearded face, and achingly familiar grim countenance intact.

"Deuce, do you see that?" Caleb's voice caught. He reached for Dean, gripped the sleeve of his jacket, his eyes not leaving the spot where John stood quietly observing them in the quickly fading light.

"See what, Damien?" Dean turned to scan the area where Caleb was staring. "If you're talking about some lame ass arch or column, then there's a good chance I could be standing on it and not know what the hell it was."

"What?" Caleb tore his eyes from John long enough to look at Dean. "He's right there!"

"Who?"

Caleb returned his gaze to the truck. The streetlight had flickered on, revealing a now empty street. The reply to Dean's question vanished from the tip of Caleb's tongue as assuredly as John and his truck had from the curb. "Never mind."

"If you two are done admiring the grounds, our gracious host awaits." Joshua called from the front steps where lights had also appeared flooding the portico and yard with soft yellow luminescence. A cold breeze picked up and Caleb blamed the sudden chill for the shiver that shook his frame.

"Caleb? You alright, man?"

The use of his name told him Dean was on the verge of worry over The Knight's odd behavior. He made a concerted effort to pull his shit together. He ran a hand through his hair, noting the faint throbbing behind his eyes, a promise of a migraine. "I'm good, just thought I saw someone on the street."

"Let me guess," Dean's sideways grin flashed, his voice losing its serious tone. "The ghost of Frank Lloyd Wright?"

"Fuck you, man." Caleb snorted, releasing his death grip on Dean with a slight shove to cover the uncharacteristic move. "See if I try to bring any culture into your very small unenlightened world again."

"Please don't, Damien." Dean shoved him back. "Stick to the lewdness and ill repute you've always brought to my life; and promise me you're not going to drool over Griffin's fluted molding or mahogany banisters? The Knight really shouldn't spout gay shit when on duty."

"I'll try not to embarrass you, Oh Great Guardian." Caleb gave another glance to the streetlight before following Dean. He chalked the apparition of his mentor up to little sleep the night before, the fact he was about to sit down with a man who had betrayed him and plotted his death on more than one occasion. It was natural to wish John was there, though it left him feeling slightly childish. "Besides, knowing Griffin the man probably gutted the entire structure, replacing everything with high-end tile, laminate furniture and gaudy chrome appliances."

To Caleb's slight disappointment the house had been painstakingly restored to the charm of its era, fixtures and even furnishings that if not original, were excellent replicas.

"Welcome, Dean." Griffin extended his hand as they crossed the threshold, gripping Dean's fiercely as The Guardian obliged. "I must say I'm glad to see the arduous task of gathering a roll of plastic and duct tape wasn't what detained you and The Knight." Griffin's gaze flicked to where Sam and Joshua had been relieved of their coats by a middle aged woman in a maid's uniform, who now came to offer the same service to Dean and Caleb. "Although I believe your Advisor was your chosen henchman the last time you graced my home."

Dean laughed and Caleb couldn't hide his own grin as he recalled the story Dean had recanted to him after his one and only visit to Griffin's house when The Guardian had gone all Godfather on Porter's ass, making the man an offer he could not refuse in true Corleone style. A small part of Caleb couldn't help but to wish Porter had provoked Dean to follow through on his threat. "No, not this time. Caleb was busy ogling your Queen Anne."

"Ah," Griffin turned his gaze to Caleb, offering his hand in a more guarded, much less exuberant manner. "I forget that you and I share an affinity for the art of structural design. I recently saw a write up on your merit award from the AIA for one of your buildings in Chelsea I believe. The work showed your affinity for the romantic era."

"Victorian is actually part of the machine era, sparked during the industrial revolution." Caleb steeled himself for contact with Porter, not remiss in remembering what else they shared. Flattery was excellent subterfuge. He had learned the hard way that the man was a powerful psychic. Caleb wasn't a seventeen year old boy anymore, his abilities probably far exceeded those of Griffin's now, but it was always taxing to ensure Caleb kept his guard up when around the man. Ring or not, Caleb didn't trust the bastard.

"Of course," Griffin nodded. "I'm sure you noted on your drive in that Grant Park is a testament to the talent of the architects of that period."

"They definitely don't make houses like this anymore." Caleb glanced at Dean, wanting to make sure his best friend took note of the effort he was making to play nice and keep up Triad diplomacy. Dean rolled his eyes, unimpressed by his poor attempt at schmoozing.

"This was my grandfather's home." Griffin let go of Caleb's hand with a slight frown that Caleb attributed to the amount of psychic energy he was probably emitting to ensure Griffin got no glimpse of his thoughts.

"Gentlemen." Porter gestured to the sitting room off to the side and waited for his guests to precede him before instructing the maid that they would like to take dinner within the hour.

"Your grandfather, Josiah Porter?" Sam asked as he took a seat beside Joshua on the high back couch near the bay window. Caleb was surprised to find a seven foot live fir with all the Christmas trim sparkling from the corner, presents stacked neatly beneath. The room smelled of fresh pine, winter in the countryside. Hissing and cracking from the fire overpowered the soft sounds of classic jazz coming from an antique record player sitting on a table near the back of the room. It had him longing to be at the farm. He wondered briefly if Griffin had family besides Eli and Ethan, who he doubted would be visiting the old man for the holidays.

"Yes." Griffin moved past the two chairs Caleb and Dean had claimed, going to a large mahogany desk by the fire place. The smile on his face made it clear he was pleased The Scholar recalled his grandfather's name. "It was rare for the time and sentiment of our nation, but he was one of the first black doctors with a family practice in the south, not to mention quite the accomplished hunter in his day, which I believe protected him from any backlash. The Brotherhood has always protected their own."

"His journal was one of the first to talk about a specific treatment of Auloniad poisoning," Sam continued. Caleb didn't miss the pointed look the younger Winchester shot him, one which spoke of how irony tended to play out in their lives. "It was helpful a few months ago when Caleb was attacked by a wood nymph."

"My grandfather was a fine doctor and a good man. It's one of the reasons I chose to follow in his footsteps, though my path has lent more to research and drug therapy as I seemed to lack the bedside manner required of a good physician." Griffin lined five glasses in front of a crystal decanter filling each with a generous splash of brandy. "I'm glad to know his knowledge continues to prove valuable to The Brotherhood. I hope the same will be said of me. In fact, Joshua tells me that I'm being afforded that opportunity today by receiving this highly unusual visit by the complete Triad."

Joshua who hadn't spoken until now addressed Dean. "I explained to Griffin that The Triad had been presented a most interesting case that had ties to the former Guardian, Henry Seacor. We hoped that he might be able to shed some light on the subject."

Griffin handed Dean a drink. "I must say my imagination has been buzzing. I haven't heard Henry Seacor's name in quite some time, except in reminiscing with some of the old timers. His Triad doesn't seem to get the attention that some of the others do."

"So you did know him?" Dean took the glass, shooting Caleb a brief look before taking a drink.

"He gave me my ring." Griffin passed the other glass he was holding to Caleb before running a finger over the silver band on his hand. "The first time, that is." He moved back to the desk to procure the other glasses which he took to Sam and Joshua. "He also gave Julian Smith's Triad their rings. I know you boys are quite familiar with them. Needless to say there aren't many of Seacor's generation left. Julian, then James brought most of the hunters now in the field officially into the fold. As I recall, Seacor was a typical Guardian, foreboding, dangerous in his own right, from a long lineage of hunters."

"Do you remember him ever talking about his time in World War II and any hand he and his Triad might have had in taking down Hitler?" Sam asked, sitting his untouched drink on the table at the end of the sofa.

"His Triad was known for their bravery during the war, just as yours will be known for stopping the apocalypse among other things." Griffin claimed his own drink before strolling to the fireplace.

"But do you recall any specific details he might have shared, a spectacular find?"

Griffin chuckled, giving Dean a curious glance. "It seems your brother doesn't quite grasp the position you hold, Dean, his privileged upbringing having blinded him to the plight of the common man, I'm afraid."

"Privileged upbringing?" Caleb felt Sam's irritation flare and resisted the urge to send the silent message of 'who's the asshole now?' to his fellow psychic. "What do you mean by that?"

"I believe Griffin is merely pointing out that the average hunter doesn't exactly sit down and chat with The Guardian," Joshua replied. "Only a select few are found in his court, and even the rarer are those that grew up in close proximity. You knew Jim Murphy in a way most others could not fathom. The Knight is typically the only Triad member that most hunters have a regular tête-à-tête with, The Scholar running a close second."

"Joshua's correct," Griffin stood poised in front of the fire place like a speaker behind a lectern. Caleb was quite certain the man was enjoying his captive audience. He was reminded of the story Griffin had weaved for him nearly twenty years before. Caleb had been riveted by his first account of how Merlin created The Brotherhood. "Unless a hunter's lineage places him in the inner folds, or he is line for succession in The Triad, most men only cross The Guardian's path when they receive their ring and even that is akin to being knighted by the king, ceremonial and impersonal at the most."

"That wasn't always the case," Dean countered and both Joshua and Griffin frowned.

"There was a time when Guardians played a more hands on role, their homes a center for Brotherhood business and pleasure. I'm guessing it was the way Merlin intended, seeing as how he designed The Round Table without a seat of distinction." Dean glanced from his brother, back to Griffin. "Sammy knows I'm not the type of king to stay tucked up safe in the castle while I send my men out to die on the battlefield, in fact I don't really see myself as the king type at all-I'm more like a dragon, constantly circling the action."

As much as Caleb had always believed in Dean's ability to be a great Guardian, it still caught him off guard when the kid commandeered a moment and shone. This particular instance of Deuce greatness was made sweeter by the fact it rendered Griffin Porter speechless.

"So can we skip the lesson on ancient Triad protocol, Professor Moriarty?" Dean placed his drink on the table between him and Caleb, leaning forward to study Griffin. "We all know you were big buddies with Julian Smith, who _was_ in line to be the next Guardian. You had to cross paths with Seacor's Triad, and knowing your affinity for hitching your wagon to anyone with a chance at power, I'm sure you were privy to the good dirt. So, what can you tell us? "

Griffin surprised Caleb by emerging from his stupor with a bold laugh. "I have come to respect your unique direct approach, Dean, as James and Mackland often predicted I would."

"Then answer his question." Caleb growled; already weary of Porter's ability to talk around the truth, drawing out a simple explanation that of course would rob him of holding court. "Do you have information to offer us or not?"

"I'm not quite certain what intelligence you hoped I would afford, but I didn't know Seacor very well. He, as The Guardian so eloquently put it, like his direct predecessor and successor very much embraced the life of a 'king'. I did however know his Knight, having been trained by him." Griffin abandoned his invisible podium for the chair directly across from Dean. "William Horn had a knack for mesmerizing tales. As young impressionable boys, my friends and I were all enthralled with the Knight's exposition about his Triad's exploits in the War, and hung on every word during the fortunate hunt that often found us in his tutelage." Griffin glanced to Caleb. "William, as most Knights tend to be, was blindly convinced of his Guardian's astute leadership and uncommon bravery. He was quite willing to wax on about Seacor's virtue, his Purple Heart from the war as well as his contributions to The Brotherhood."

"You once told me that Merlin chose Knights for their bravery, strength and strict moral code of conduct." Caleb swished the brandy in his glass, before downing the drink in one gulp. He hoped it took some of the edge off of his growing headache, and calmed the hackles he could feel rearing their ugly head with Griffin's well-disguised condescension. "These days I've heard you refer to them as nothing more than pit bulls on a short leash, now brainwashed braggarts."

"So William Horn spoke of his Triad's time in World War II?" Sam broke in before Griffin could reply to the baited accusation, assuring the conversation did not take a nasty turn.

"More specifically, perhaps he mentioned a powerful relic they claimed in Germany?" Joshua followed up, with the briefest of disproving glances in Caleb's direction. Caleb picked up on the irritation from both Scholar and Advisor and relaxed into the leather chair with a snort, snatching the remainder of Dean's drink. He didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed that Sam and Joshua seemed to have formed a fledgling alliance.

Griffin's face lit up with recognition. "Ah? You're on a quest for The Holy Lance?"

"I take it you've heard of it." Dean arched a brow. "Maybe had it on your Christmas lists a time or two, Griff?"

"Admittedly, I'm not the first to be enchanted by its legend." Griffin chuckled, his dark eyes agleam with intrigue.

Caleb clenched his fist, easily recalling another 'legend' that had bewitched Griffin. "No, that list is pretty long, Hitler and Attila the Hun right on top," he muttered.

Griffin kept his eyes on Dean, a smile plastered on his face despite Caleb's unflattering insinuation. "In my time, Seacor's Triad, their ties to The Holy Lance and its dark origins generated as much speculation and heated debate in The Brotherhood as your Triad has concerning Noah Seaver's amulet and certain ties to demon kind."

Griffin's reference to Caleb's lineage didn't sting the way it had when Caleb was a boy. Porter wasn't able to twist the knife, playing on a scared kid's insecurities and weaknesses. The years had not brought Caleb peace but an acceptance of what he was that at least made the truth less of an effective weapon to be used against him. Still, he wished for not the hundredth time that he had no ties to fucking Noah Seaver and the man's amulet, that he wasn't a card-bearing member of the demon tribe. It made it worse that he had utilized the damn necklace himself, possessing demons and boosting his own psychic ability in a last ditch effort to save Dean from Hell. A plan that not only backfired spectacularly, but released the likes of Malachi Harris on the world. The fact he and Sam had destroyed the thing made no difference. It would be known for generations to come, even though like their predecessors, they had glazed it over, going so far as to leave gaps in their written history.

"That would probably explain why it's not written about specifically in any of their Triad's journals," Sam commented. "They probably wanted as little attention drawn to it as possible."

Griffin continued, ignoring Caleb's obvious displeasure at his own hostile comparison. "When rumors surfaced that Seacor's Triad had possession of the spear, many hunters of my grandfather's generation expected the tide to turn in the daily battle against the supernatural. When things remained the same theories ran the gambit from those who believed that the Lance was nothing more than an historical object, lacking the proclaimed power to those who thought that perhaps Seacor had deposited it in a secret hiding place to assure the balance of things continued."

"Let me guess which theory you latched onto?" Caleb couldn't help himself. It was too easy to make the short leap. After all, Griffin's desire to find the Brotherhood's _treasure_ was what had put him on the direct collision course with their lives. "You and your band of merry marauders thought he might have placed it with the missing journals and stockpile of weapons collected throughout the decades? A weapon like The Spear of Destiny would definitely ensure victory to an underdog group set on mutiny."

"Damien." Dean sighed, sending Caleb a sidelong glance that communicated more than the silent explicative and demand for Caleb to keep his mouth shut his best friend made sure was broadcasting loud and clear in his thoughts.

Caleb stopped short of apologizing, going back to nursing Dean's drink as a gesture of compliance.

"I embraced the last theory as a young hunter." Griffin didn't appear insulted by Caleb's accusation, but rather resigned to his past deeds. "But I found it highly improbable as I later unraveled Samuel Colt's plans and the great pains he went to in making sure no one found his Triad's hiding place. I firmly believe no Guardian before Dean accessed the weapon store in Wyoming. Therefore, The Lance if indeed recovered by Seacor's Triad, must have been secured elsewhere."

"We have reason to believe that Seacor might have hidden The Holy Lance in plain sight, that it might have even been mistaken for a part of his personal estate and not claimed for The Brotherhood by the next generation," Joshua inserted, and Caleb realized with a modicum of guilt that bringing up Griffin's betrayal of Jim Murphy might hit home for their Advisor, considering Joshua's father had a hand in it.

"It wouldn't be too surprising, however unfortunate. Julian and his Triad weren't quite prepared when their reign started. Julian was young, and although knowledgeable of the position he would hold, not exactly prepared to take on the wealth of responsibility it would require."

"Someone not so keen on being the Guardian," Dean shot Caleb a glance. "Imagine that."

"Don't mistake me. Julian wanted his Triad to take their rightful places, but they weren't expecting it when it happened. When Seacor died, his Knight and Scholar elected to step down. Like you Dean, Seacor's understudy, for lack of a better term, had been killed in the war and it seemed the better choice to instate a complete Triad than to allow The Brotherhood to go without a Guardian." Porter met Caleb's gaze. "I give Mackland Ames great credit in managing solo as long as he did. It's not an easy feat, especially in times of great unrest."

"So Julian would have been overwhelmed by his new duties," Sam said, thoughtfully. "His Knight and Scholar were ready to get out and not exactly in the state of mind to make sure all the things were in order."

"As a Guardian, James Murphy was actually the first in a long time to make it a priority to keep up with artifacts of a supernatural nature. He made it a sort of personal mission, which I assumed was brought about mostly by his first Knight's penchant for adding to his personal collection, but even after John had taken over from Elkins, Jim kept a close eye out for any object that might be of supernatural consequence, going so far as to spearhead hunts to retrieve them. If the Lance of Longinus had reared its tipped head, I have no doubt James would have found a way to procure it."

"But if it was stored away in Seacor's house where his daughter lived until a few years ago, Jim might not have even considered it," Dean looked at Caleb. "That makes our little scenario pretty plausible."

"And your scenario is?" Griffin inquired.

Caleb resisted the urge to tell Porter that information was on a need to know basis, and he sure as hell didn't need to know. Instead, he finished off the brandy, hoping it would relieve the rhythmic pounding in his skull.

"We believe someone purchased The Lance at the auction of Seacor's estate," Sam answered.

"Families of former Guardians are often treated like those of past presidents. It would be protocol for one of The Brotherhood, perhaps someone in a position like Joshua's new bride, to be in attendance of such an event preventing such a thing from happening."

"The auction took place nearly two years ago," Joshua spoke with the briefest of glances in Dean's direction. Caleb picked up on their Advisor's surge of emotion, felt his own wave of something akin to affection as he noted the careful way in which Joshua continued, obviously hoping not to incur his usual faux pas of saying the wrong thing at the worst times. "That was a time of great adversity and worry for The Brotherhood."

Griffin was not so considerate. "That's right. With both Guardians elect dead, the rest of the future Triad indisposed and their Advisor in extremely poor health, I suppose the mundane task of keeping track of a long since deceased Guardian's estate was low on the list of important duties."

"So our theory that The Holy Lance was picked up by someone in the dark about what they had holds water."

Caleb knew Dean's decision to address him directly was not haphazard and Caleb willed his muscles to relax, pushing thoughts of erasing the smirk from Griffin's face to the back of his mind. "Someone like Tennison's Mayor Jameson."

"Tennison? I know of it. It's not far from here," Griffin sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "The town's been in the news lately, along with their politically ambitious mayor who has his eyes set on a seat in the Senate; he's being touted as a young JFK and the city as one of the top places to raise a family, I believe."

"Which is an amazing feat considering Jameson was a no name and Tennison used to top the charts in cities with the highest murder and violent crime rate," Sam supplied.

"Hmm," Griffin's mouth twitched. "And here my Chess Club theorized Mayor Jameson was taking credit for the drastic turnaround when in fact we were certain it was due to a great influx of gay men into the area, as was the case in Midtown."

"Sorry to disappoint, but the angels believe it has less to do with the homosexual set's positive effect on property value and more to do with The Holy Lance's ability to grant great things to whomever possesses it," Joshua said.

"Angels, you say?" Griffin rubbed his chin, his eyes meeting Dean's. "Your friend, Castiel?"

Dean nodded. "Cas pointed us in this direction."

"Why would angels have interest in such a charged instrument as the one used against Christ?"

This time Caleb felt completely justified as The Knight to tell Griffin that it was none of his damn business, although in consideration to Dean he was thoughtful enough to use his diplomatic voice. He leaned forward, placing the empty glass on the table with more force than necessary. "That's not anything you need to concern yourself with, Porter."

If Griffin was rebuffed, the appearance of his maid announcing dinner kept him cordial, his most gracious host's smile in place as he stood. "Then I suppose we will have to find other stimulating conversation to tide us over during our meal."

"I'm sure Damien can offer up some Riley exploits?" Dean jerked a thumb in Caleb's direction. "He's thinking of starting a brand new journal just for new hunter mishaps."

"Ethan tells me that Boone and Kathleen's son is proving to be quite the challenge in training." Griffin grinned. "It reminds me of some of the things James Murphy did when he first began with us."

"Pastor Jim wasn't a natural hunter?" Sam asked.

"On the contrary, Samuel…" Griffin waved Sam and Josh ahead of him into the kitchen, then followed continuing to prattle on about the past and Pastor Jim. Caleb had heard the story from Griffin before. He stood, keeping his gaze on the Christmas tree twinkling at him from the corner where a blur of gold caught his eye amongst the stacked gifts of silver and blue. He blinked. His breath hitched as Atticus Finch materialized beneath the branches.

Pastor Jim's beloved pet didn't look at him, merely continued to work at his squirrel toy as if the destruction and disassembly of it was the most important task in the world. Caleb had witnessed such a scene many times at the farm, knew for a fact that it was a miracle the squirrel still existed to be toted around and gummed by an arthritic Harper Lee, passed down from Atticus who had died years ago.

Dean's hand on his arm had him jumping, an embarrassment made worse when his voice broke. "Deuce, do you think Griffin has a dog?"

"A dog?"Dean's grip tightened slightly. "Dude, you need to take it easy on the fifty year old hooch."

Caleb turned to look at his best friend who gave him a half-hearted grin. "Griffin is so the creepy, hairless cat type."

Caleb shook his head, blowing out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Maybe even a reptile lover." Dean let him go with a look which let Caleb know that even though he wasn't making a big deal about it, he was worried. The quick once over usually reserved only for baby brothers and his beloved Impala was further proof. "I bet there are freeze dried crickets and mice in the fridge."

Caleb groaned, resisting the urge to return his gaze to the tree afraid their dog Scout might have appeared now, too. "You realize we're about to have dinner?"

"You forget how I grew up? If I let a few rodents and bugs destroy my appetite I would have starved long ago."

"Then you should have some consideration for others." Caleb raked his hands through his hair, bravely facing the tree to find only presents residing beneath its shelter once more.

"I'm considerate of your feelings, Damien. I was going to offer to take the bacon wrapped filet off your hands."

"Thanks for that." Caleb breathed a sigh of relief that had nothing to do with Dean's mock sacrifice. "It's good to know you've got my back."

"You know it." Dean inclined his head to the kitchen and Caleb for not the first time that night felt like a complete child. "I'll even make sure Josh and Sammy sit next to Griffin, and that Joshua trades plates with you. Who cares if he gets sick."

"That would be good." Caleb nodded, though the thought of having to share a table with Porter was suddenly overshadowed by the ridiculous worry that on par for the evening Pastor Jim might materialize in one of the vacant seats.

"So?" Dean hedged.

Caleb mustered a half grin, clasping Dean on the shoulder and forcing his legs to move. After all, he was the damn Knight of The Brotherhood, and a few ghosts from his past, even one as corporeal as Griffin Porter wasn't going to keep him from fulfilling his obligation to Dean. "Let's eat, Deuce."

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Spear of Destiny

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you to all reviewers. I have been terrible about getting back with you, but it is not out of lack of appreciation. I promise there is action coming in this story. It is a slow build, meandering along really, but please hang on. Believe it or not, a lot of things are being set up for future stories.

RCJ

"_One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it." –French Proverb  
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"Tell me again why you and Caleb get to sightsee, and Joshua and I are going to visit the Mayor?"

Sam studied Dean over his plate of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and toast from the complimentary breakfast bar their hotel provided. Travelling with Joshua and Caleb had its advantages. Neither man was willing to stay at a seedy place when one was not forced upon them by 'depravity of locale or monetary restraints,' as Joshua so eloquently explained to Dean when he insisted they stay at one of the nicer places in Tennison.

Dean shrugged. "You and Josh look the part."

Sam added more salt to his eggs. "We look like reporters?"

"Josh prefers 'columnists.'" Dean cut into his second self-made waffle and grinned at Sam. "Columnists from an uptight, right-wing rag, who hang out at Tea Parties in their spare time."

Sam snorted. "So you and Caleb look too much like liberal democrats?"

"Damien and I look like cops. Don't forget we're going into the city as two detectives from the seedy side of Memphis, sent by our concerned Captain, Robert Singer to check out all the work Tennison's finest have been doing to turn their dump of a city around. That way we can cover all our bases in case Jameson's not our guy."

Sam rolled his eyes at the cover story, picking at his buttered toast. "You made sure Bobby knows to expect a phone call from Tennison's Chief, because this isn't some backwoods set-up?"

"How long have I been doing this job, Sammy?" Dean shoved in another bite of syrup drenched pastry, eyeing the waffle maker on the counter with a contemplative gleam. "I have it all under control. Captain Singer is prepared."

"What about Caleb?" Sam hadn't missed the fact their Knight had been strangely quiet through dinner the night before. He would have chalked it up to deference to Dean's request to play nice with Griffin, but the uncharacteristic silence had lasted after their departure, extending throughout the drive to Tennison where upon arrival Caleb didn't even object to being roomed with Joshua.

"Don't worry about Damien. He won't admit it, but he loves playing cop. I think if he hadn't had a juvenile record as thick as the dictionaries Mac used to give us at Christmas, he'd ditched the architect thing and embraced the badge."

"I'm not talking about him doing the job, Dean. You don't think he's acting…off?" Sam couldn't put his finger on it, the sense he was missing something even stronger than before. He tried to blame it on a repeat of the annoying piano dream, the horrible feeling of being ill prepared still lingering over him like a dark cloud.

"Off?" Dean took the last bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly as he regarded Sam.

Sam wasn't sure his brother was purposively being coy or if he was truly overreacting. The trauma of their battle with Lucifer, how close they had all come to the end, haunting him in a way he wasn't even aware, stirring up old memories from a past he'd worked hard to put behind him. "Do you think he hit his head harder than he let on? Maybe I should have…"

"Dude, Castiel fixed Damien's head," Dean interrupted, putting his fork down with a slight smirk. "As much as it can be fixed."

Sam sighed, unwilling to be drawn out of his funk by his brother's sense of humor. He shoved his plate away. "Just forget I said anything."

"You really want to know what I think?" Dean placed his elbows on the table. "I think we're all a little off after what went down. Battling with Lucifer, taking on Michael, not to mention getting used to being The Triad after years of build up. Then there's you moving to New York, going back to school."

Sam groaned as Dean arched a knowing eyebrow. He shouldn't have been surprised his brother was shifting the focus. "You're really trying to make this about me and school. I love school. My life is great, just like I always wanted."

"And here I thought things might have been a little different than you imagined. Because you're different than you were back then. For one thing, you're not running away from something you hate this time, and there's no Jessica."

"This isn't about Jessica, Dean." Sam knew the snap in his tone, the way his fingers tightened into a fist around his fork was belaying his words. "I'm over that. New York isn't anything like Palo Alto." But in a very real way it was far too similar. His friends from Stanford had moved on with their lives long ago, were lawyers, doctors and business men and women, but he still saw them reflected in the faces of the kids he had classes with, heard their voices echoed in lectures, felt their haunting gaze on him as he walked the hallowed halls of a very different institution than the one in which they'd marked time. They had married, built homes, become parents leaving Sam behind with their ghosts. Sam who had been away at war, fighting monsters they would never understand, making sacrifices they could not appreciate-the rest of the world going on in his absence.

"I'll give you that New York's on the east coast. Your new digs, thanks to Damien, are a whole hell of lot nicer than your old crappy apartment, but your roommate is nowhere in the same league as Jess." Dean picked up coffee, took a drink. "I'm just saying that things aren't exactly what I expected, so I figured you …"

"You mean playing house with Juliet isn't all you thought it would be? Just because you suck at having a life, doesn't mean I'm destined to the same fate." Sam knew he was being a dick, the quick flash of hurt in Dean's green eyes a giant beacon pointing out just how much of an ass Sam could be, how much similarity he shared with their father.

"Believe it or not, Sammy, I like my life." Dean put his cup down, glancing over Sam's shoulder towards the doorway. Sam didn't need to turn around to know Caleb and Joshua had entered. Dean lowered his voice, the words more poignant due to their calm, matter-of-fact delivery. "Someday I hope you can say the same thing, little brother."

Sam was the first to break their stare down. He picked up his orange juice, taking a long drink to wash down the golf ball sized lump that had sprung to the back of his throat. He pulled his plate back in reach, digging into his eggs so he wouldn't have to look up at Caleb who would pick up on their emotions easy enough without Dean's kicked puppy look and Sam's guilt-ridden face.

"Someone take away your waffle making privileges, Deuce?" The Knight claimed the chair by The Guardian, glancing to the counter with a frown where a couple of old ladies gathered around the griddle and plastic cups of batter. Sam had a sudden image of Caleb shooing the old women away like some fanatical bodyguard. "I'll fight off The Red Hat Society if you want me to."

"Should I be concerned you know what a bunch of grandmas decked out in weird hats call themselves, Damien?" Dean forced his easy smile in place, flashing his best friend a crooked grin.

Sam fought back a tiny twinge of jealousy, and focused his irritation on something more rational when Caleb snatched the last piece of bacon from his plate.

"This your way of telling me you already worked your way through all the women in New York under sixty?"

"No, you can thank Esme for that bit of trivia. The last time she and Mac invited me to their place, Jocelyn and her chapter were visiting them before touring upper Manhattan."

"If I recall, Mother said you dropped by uninvited, as usual, then took it upon yourself to woo my grandmother's traveling set with your ridiculous attempt at chivalry." Joshua slid out of his overcoat, placing it over the chair closest to Sam. "She told me you provided a guided tour of the Met, dazzling them with your pretentious knowledge of the Renaissance artists I believe, as well as using one of your sordid contacts, no doubt a former sexual conquest, to secure tickets to a highly popular Broadway show the tour company was unable to provide."

"Josh is just jealous I live only a few blocks from our parents and that his grandmother likes me best." Caleb smirked at his stepbrother. "Did Esme happen to mention Jocelyn introduced me as her 'youngest' grandson to all her red-hatted friends?"

"I need coffee." Joshua turned on his heel, moving towards the buffet line with a clip.

"Bring me a cup, and a couple of Danish, Bro," Caleb called after him, a self-satisfied grin gracing his features.

Sam had to give The Knight credit. He was handling his family status with Joshua much better than expected.

"He's far too easy."

"We'll see how you feel when your grandfather Cullen introduces Joshua as a newest shareholder in Ames Industry at the next board meeting." Sam couldn't help himself. The look of panic on Caleb's face was priceless.

Caleb leaned forward. "Did Josh tell you that?"

"Sam's yanking your chain, Damien. Don't worry. Your plan to turn the whole step-sibling thing to your advantage is right on track." Sam stifled a yelp, nearly choking on his last bite of egg when Dean kicked him hard under the table. "I guess that means you're back to your old self and done pouting about spending the evening with Griffin."

"I was not pouting," Caleb defended, claiming Dean's coffee as his own until Joshua returned with his. "Which is more than I can say for The Scholar. What have you two been arguing about that's sent the Runt spiraling into one of his brood fests?"

"I'm not brooding," Sam growled, shooting Dean a look he hoped would implore pity. He didn't think his brother would give a play by play recap of their discussion to Caleb, at least not until Knight and Guardian were alone, but wanted to make sure Dean didn't take their pledge to be completely honest within The Triad to a new level.

"Sammy's pissed because he's playing Jimmy Olsen with Josh while we shakedown the city like Starsky and Hutch."

"I call Hutch," Caleb quickly claimed. Sam didn't bother denying his brother's explanation, considered himself lucky The Knight let it drop in lieu of calling first dibs on what he perceived the better choice between the two 70's cop show stars. "He was the ladies man, and by far the better looking one."

"Starsky had the hot ride," Dean conceded, reclaiming his coffee before Caleb could taint it with his usual three packs of sugar. "So I'll let you have your fantasy that you're the pretty one in this partnership, Damien."

"I knew you'd see it my way." Caleb tossed a gold shield in front of Dean. "Ethan gave me these as an early Christmas present a few weeks ago when we working that gig in Jersey. He has a contact where they commission shields and she did him a favor after he said he wanted to authenticate his and Eli's Halloween costumes. They came complete with false computer files which Riley made sure were implanted in all the important data bases."

Dean flashed the gold detective's shield in Sam's direction, revealing the black lettered name of Starsky and a serial number. "Don't worry, little brother, I'll call Captain Singer and give him our badge numbers."

"Don't feel left out, Sammy. I got one for you, too." Caleb handed over an official looking plastic press pass. "Don't tell him I said so, but Josh morphs into the fucking Picasso of fake ID's when he crosses the threshold of a Kinkos."

Sam took the badge and groaned. "Seriously, man? Newt Romney?"

"What?" Caleb grinned. "You want to inspire confidence with the mayor, right?"

"I tried to get him to go with something less conspicuous, not to mention ludicrous," Joshua returned to the table, bearing only one cup of coffee and Danish, which he quickly marked as his own by licking his tongue across the top of it before Caleb could lay one finger to it .

"Dick head," Caleb growled, pushing away from the table, forced to get his own breakfast.

"Way to throw all Esme's years of table manners and girly etiquette right out the well-bred window, Josh." Dean actually sounded impressed. "Admit it. You watched the movie 'Step Brother's' I bought you."

"Why waste two hours of my life that I would never get back viewing assuredly cinematic rubbish when I have spent years in the company of two overgrown man children such as you and Caleb. I have come away with nothing if not a vast repertoire of childish sibling antics." Joshua took time to unfold his napkin and place it on his lap. "I have a complete arsenal at my disposal. I daresay my mother having been raised in a hunting family, as well as knowing the both of you quite well by now, realizes a soldier, even one as refined as I, must sometimes embrace their enemy's tactics, no matter how vile and disgusting if one hopes to emerge the victor."

"Just beware of paybacks, Sun Tzu," Dean stood pointing to Joshua's cup of coffee. "I'd guard everything consumable for the next few days. Nobody does revenge better than Damien."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, hoping his voice didn't convey the slight panic he felt. He suddenly found himself almost desperate to make sure things were right between him and his brother. Arguing with Dean was the last thing Sam had wanted for this visit, even if said visit had morphed into an insane hunt.

"Waffle maker." Dean rubbed his hands together, no hint of their earlier discussion or offense to Sam's slight outwardly evident. "The sea of blue hair and red hats has parted and they just brought out more batter."

Sam watched his brother go, joining Caleb at the bar where their heads bent together in quiet conversation. He allowed himself a moment to imagine Dean tattling to The Knight, but knew a more likely exchange involved a wager involving how many chocolate and peanut butter chips Dean could actually add to the waffle mix before it became a gooey disaster.

"It takes so little to amuse them."

Sam turned his attention to Joshua, watching as the older hunter stirred a generous amount of cream into his coffee. "It's like Pru and that little piece of plastic from the milk lid."

"Huh?"

"My cat."Joshua put the spoon on the saucer, picking up his cup. "Never mind."

"Sorry." Sam sighed, his eyes finding Dean and Caleb once more. They were huddled over the waffle maker. "I'm just a little distracted."

"If you're distressed about the ID, never fear. I made you an extra while Caleb was _distracted_ with the Kinko's clerk, who was easily fifteen years his junior, quite possibly a college student, which did nothing to deter his embarrassing flirtation. It is a character flaw however that worked to your advantage." Joshua pulled another pass from his pocket and offered it to Sam.

Sam's mouth twitched when he saw the name, William H. McCarty beside his picture.

"It's a historical falsehood that Billy the Kid's real name was William H. Bonney, you know. In actuality he was born William Henry McCarty." Joshua used a knife and fork to cut his Danish, which Sam found ironic considering his actions only moments before. "The fact few know the true moniker makes it a suitable alias."

"Thanks for having my back." Sam pocketed the pass, along with the one Caleb had made him. The Knight could be irritating, but Sam found it hard to stay mad at him especially in light of his concerns for Caleb's health.

"I was merely trying to save us an awkward moment of explanation when we met with the good mayor this morning. Despite what Caleb thinks, satirical humor is not an appropriate icebreaker, nor does it inspire confidence. How he and Dean continue to get away using such nom de plumes is beyond me." Joshua glanced at his watch, picking up the napkin from his lap to dab at his mouth. "Did you make our appointment with the good mayor?"

"It's at 10:00." Sam nodded, glancing to his watch to make sure he had time to change. It would appear odd if Joshua was dressed in a thousand dollar suit and Sam in torn jeans, NYU tee and flannel. "We have a taxi coming to take us. Mayor Jameson was quite excited to be interviewed by The Conservative. He didn't even question when I explained we would rather conduct the session at his home to get a better feel for his personality and background."

"Everyone is anxious for their fifteen minutes of fame." Joshua pushed the remainder of his Danish away, claiming his coffee. "It seems likely that if he had The Lance it would be at his residence instead of at his office. Providing the right distraction, one of us should be able to search the house fairly thoroughly. It's not like a lance can be tucked away in a drawer."

"We can always schedule a follow-up interview at the municipal building if we don't turn up anything on this preliminary casing." Sam knew that even if they were lucky enough to locate The Holy Lance, there would be decisions to be made. If history proved true, taking the Spear from Jameson could prove as good as signing the man's death warrant.

"My money's on Jameson having it." Caleb reclaimed his seat, offering his opinion on the matter.

"I'm guessing he doesn't even know what he has." Sam shook his head when Dean rejoined them, his plate bulging with a waffle that looked more like a puffy chocolate chip cookie than breakfast fare. Dean didn't seem to notice, pointing a fork at the concoction, bobbing his eyebrows at Caleb. It only proved Sam's theory about the earlier conversation between Knight and Guardian.

"Wonder if that will save him from dropping dead when we relieve him of it?" Caleb asked around a bite of cherry-filled pastry.

"Perhaps we should pose that question to Castiel beforehand," Joshua suggested. "After all, the man has committed no crime or injustice against humanity that we know of; on the contrary it seems he's improved life for those who voted him into office."

"Unless you count being a republican as a crime," Caleb smirked at their Advisor.

"As if you'd have us believe someone from the Ames family would dare hold allegiance to any other party? I'm quite certain Mackland, per Cullen, would have made converting to the Republican Party a condition of your adoption. Bringing a juvenile delinquent heathen into their respectable family was one thing, a democrat quite another. "

"I wasn't talking about me." Caleb shifted his eyes to Dean, who pretended to be focused solely on his waffle.

"You're a registered voter?" Joshua nearly choked on his coffee.

"Don't sound so shocked, Josh. I'm surprised my voting record hasn't been pillow talk between you and Carolyn." Dean shot his Advisor a half grin. "Considering she told me about the huge crush you have on the Second Lady, Jill Biden."

Sam decided he owed Joshua a save. He tapped the table. "There's one thing we haven't talked about."

"Don't worry, Runt, we'll get around to mentioning your embarrassing first love, Chelsea Clinton eventually." Caleb nudged Dean with his elbow. "Remember that coloring book he used to carry around?"

"I'm talking about Raphael, you asshole." Sam found his concern for Caleb wavering.

"What about him?" Dean put his fork down, giving Sam his full attention.

"What are we going to do if he shows up? It's not exactly like we've had any luck in protecting ourselves against angels in the past."

Dean pushed his plate away as if Sam's topic of conversation had killed his appetite instead of the previous waffles he'd consumed. "If we're quick enough, and we get lucky, maybe that won't be an issue."

"And since when have you three ever had luck in your corner?" Joshua arched a brow. "It's like an impoverished family counting on winning the lottery to pay their mortgage."

"We got you for an Advisor, didn't we, Mr. Sunshine?" Dean quipped.

"Not that I'm as paranoid as the runt, but maybe we should kick it into gear." Caleb picked up what was left of his Danish, intent on taking it with him, and stood before Dean could give his two cents on the matter. "We've got a chief of police to talk to, and some local haunts to shakedown. Let's roll, Starsky."

"Hold your horses, Huggy Bear." Sam watched his brother take one more bite of his waffle, washing it down with the last gulp of coffee before pointing a finger at him. "You two stay sharp, and check in after your visit with the mayor."

"How long have I been doing this job, Dean?" Sam took the grin his brother flashed at having his earlier exasperation tossed back at him for a truce. It would have to do until Sam could find some better way to apologize. He briefly wondered if Tennison had a good bakery. "I have it all under control."

"Sure you do, Newt ." Caleb snorted. "How about hunter with the biggest lead buys lunch?"

"You're on." Sam nodded, thankful for the typical levity.

"Hunters with the most pertinent intel also choose location of said lunch," Joshua chimed in.

"Way to join in, Mama's Boy." Dean grabbed his jacket from the chair, slipping it on.

"I refuse to eat at that chrome covered mobile home some ill-advised philanthropist converted to a diner that you two were eye-balling on the way in."

Sam couldn't hold back a laugh at Dean's feigned look of suffering. "And here I thought you were finally coming around, Josh, really becoming one of us."

"I prefer to maintain some healthy boundaries where our relationship is concerned, as well as unclogged arteries, thank you very much."

"You don't seem to mind sidling up to my brother." Sam was surprised when Dean switched his attention to him. "Don't think I haven't noticed the budding Bromance you two have going on."

"Leave him alone, Deuce. Carolyn's probably put him on a strict diet and given him orders to align himself with the one member of The Triad who's turned off by all things fun. With a friend like Sam there's no reason to worry about gambling, booze or attention from the ladies."

"Seeing as how she couldn't exactly choose his family, who could blame Carolyn for wanting to be more selective with his friends." Sam snarked back, finding himself feeling more and more foolish for thinking Caleb was off his game.

Caleb grinned, tugging on Dean's jacket to get him moving. "What woman doesn't want her husband being best pals with a geeky, asexual recluse who thinks there's a place for vegetables on pizza and sprouts and cucumbers on a sandwich?"

The look Caleb shot Sam over his shoulder as he and Dean took their leave was proof The Knight had meant for his comment to be loud enough for Scholar and Advisor to hear.

"I heard that." Sam felt all of twelve again, but couldn't help himself. He turned to Joshua. "Your brother is a complete ass."

"No need to remind me of the unfortunate side affect of my mother's betrothal. I'm quite aware."Joshua stacked his plate on top of Caleb's, adding them both to Dean's in an attempt to tidy their mess. "At least intent on a mission, whether that be to thwart rogue angels or annoy you, Caleb is more himself."

Sam met Joshua's gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Caleb seems extremely determined to make himself more maddening than ever."

Sam frowned, glancing over his shoulder to the door where Caleb and Dean had exited. He thought about the conversation he'd had with Dean, and the likelihood that Caleb gleaned more than Sam had suspected. Subterfuge was a skill both Guardian and Knight excelled in. "Does that mean you've noticed Caleb's been off?"

"If by 'off' you mean did I find it odd he didn't throw his typical temper tantrum when you insisted on his coveted position of 'shotgun' last night when we left Griffin's, or that I wasn't subjected to a dramatic outpouring of how he was being forced to room with me instead of his best buddy, Starsky, then yes, I've noticed something was somewhat amiss." Joshua finished the last dregs of his coffee. "What did Dean say on the matter?"

Sam sighed. "Dean thinks we're all a little bit off-he's blaming the near apocalypse."

"We did defy impossible odds." Joshua seemed to entertain the idea, rolling it around in his mind as if considering the potential spin as plausible.

"So you think Dean's right, that we're all suffering from some sort of post trauma."

"Not all of us, of course. After all, you and I concluded just last evening that our lives are quite perfect."

"Right." Sam smirked, wondering if he was completely transparent. "I forgot."

"But for the sake of argument, if we were by chance off our game, as The Knight so obviously is, the lingering distress may be not so much from the horrors we endured, but quite possibly from the futures we are now free to consider."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

"We've all gotten if not what we've always wanted, at least more than we could ever have hoped." Joshua pulled at the sleeves of his dress shirt, running a finger over one silver cufflink. "Perhaps we've fallen victim to that whole 'be careful what you wish for' dilemma. We have been granted a gift, an entirely new lease on life, and there is no one to blame but ourselves if we screw it up. The pressure to succeed our predecessors is mindboggling."

"You think Caleb's worried about fulfilling his duty as The Knight?" Sam couldn't even begin to consider Joshua's suggestion, would have laughed at The Advisor if not for his look of complete sincerity, as if perhaps he'd lost sleep pondering the explanation. "I hate to break it to you, Joshua, but Caleb has never doubted his ability or his destiny to be The Knight, not once since I've known him. I think he instinctively knew what his role in The Brotherhood, hell, in his _life_, was to be before anyone even gave him a clue and he's never faltered. No one is more confident, more satisfied or more hopeful in how things have turned out, or how the future will go."

To Sam's surprise, Joshua ceded his postulation without further argument. "You're right, of course." He gave a heavy sigh. "Lucky bastard."

Sam's mouth twitched, his burden feeling somewhat lighter despite the fact Joshua hadn't offered any helpful insight. Maybe knowing he wasn't the only one concerned was enough. He once again wondered at the circumstances that drove Joshua to join them on the hunt. "Have you ever heard of a little thing called projection?"

"Perhaps I should ask you that same question?" Joshua snapped and Sam could practically feel the other man's defenses reinforcing.

Sam frowned, his own insecurities flaring. "Now you sound like Dean."

"Believe it or not, I have had worse things said of me."

"I _don't_ find that hard to believe, but I thought we were talking about Caleb."

"Fine." Joshua lifted his hand in surrender. "If my suggestion is so ludicrous and self incriminating, Dr. Freud, then I am quite anxious to hear yours."

"I think he hit his head." Sam shrugged when Joshua's look of indignation turned to one of incredulity, making him feel every bit the moron. "I mean, I _know _he hit his head. I was there."

"You're postulating that a concussion is to blame for this peculiar behavior?"

"Well, Castiel fixed the concussion," Sam grudgingly admitted. "Dean made him."

"Then why are we even considering it as a factor?"

"Also a point Dean made," Sam growled. This conversation was going nowhere. Sam wasn't about to launch into how his concerns were mostly based on a foolish dream about a piano recital and memories from a long ago hunt. Nor would he entertain the idea that perhaps he was imagining Caleb's issues as a way not to focus on his own. Sam was the logical Scholar after all.

"And I'd have to maintain Dean's point a valid one considering the fact Castiel as we are all well aware can accomplish such feats as liberating a soul from Hell, and manipulating time travel."

"You really know how to make a guy feel stupid, you know that right?" Sam glanced at his watch; thankful time was demanding he head back to his and Dean's room to change for the meeting with Jameson.

"Missouri has assured me it's a useful talent when it comes to working with obstinate men in power." Joshua seemed to take Sam's not so subtle hint. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, waiting as Sam did the same. "As far as I'm aware an Advisor's helpful criticisms aren't limited to The Guardian."

"Missouri's spoon didn't seem to have a bias." Sam found himself fighting back a grin despite his frustration as an image of Joshua wielding the former Advisor's instrument of correction filled his mind. "I guess your biting sarcasm shouldn't be any different."

"I remember Missouri using her unique methods on your father and Bobby, have gleefully witnessed countless interventions with Dean and Caleb, yet I've not once felt the sting of her recrimination." Joshua lifted a challenging brow. "You?"

"Never." Sam smiled, understanding he was at least being offered a unique white flag from The Advisor, yet another reminder of their unforeseen commonality.

"Another validation that I obviously made the right choice in which Triad member to partner with."

"You mean my lack of knowledge of all things fun wasn't what sold you?"

"I'll admit your conservative, burgeoning on prudish nature is somewhat of a plus in my book but I'll admit it's your above average intelligence that sold me."

Sam wasn't sure if Joshua was kidding, until the Advisor favored him with a rare grin. "However, I must warn you that if I'm forced to eat at that moving health violation I may have to reconsider and take Carolyn's sentiments under advisement."

"Carolyn doesn't like me?" Sam drew up short.

"She likes you." Joshua motioned him along, passing the registration desk. "But in her own words, you're a bit _too_ much Mr. Darcy for her taste."

"Huh?" Sam sputtered, following after Joshua as he led the way to the elevator.

"One of her Pride and Prejudice analogies, of which there are a great many I assure you." Joshua entered the open car as several more ladies wearing red hats exited with a round of laughter and a cloud of perfume. He stabbed the button for the seventh floor. "I had to break down and read the damn novel, as well as several other Austen sagas in hopes of making since of some of our more recent discussions."

"I'm still not following you."

"What it means is that unfortunately, Carolyn, like my grandmother, like your _brother_ and like Caleb himself, find Caleb's virtues many. She's enchanted, bewitched really." The elevator stopped, the doors opening with a ding. Sam started forward but Joshua blocked him from exiting. "I'll consider it an unforgivable transgression of Brotherhood if Caleb ever hears I admitted such folly on her part."

"Really?" Sam shook his head. "The last thing I need is for Caleb's idea of how awesome he is to be validated and worse inflated."

"Of course." Joshua nodded. "One more reason I chose you."

Sam snorted. Maybe Dean was right. If this weekend was any indication, Sam's life was most definitely not turning out how he expected. "So much for all my hard work to become an asexual recluse who likes vegetables on his pizza and sprouts on his sandwich."

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Spear of Destiny

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: There is a small warning for the use of angels in this chapter. Tidia and I have not enjoyed the way the show has portrayed angels, especially Castiel in later seasons or God, nor do I agree with it or think it was necessary for the continuation of certain story arcs. I will only be using them as a plot device in such a way that the show has started and will resolve it in another manner. No disrespect is meant nor is the representation a reflection of how I feel about angels. I feel much more comfortable sticking with Arthurian legend, where the small amount of knowledge I have is dangerous, but hopefully not blasphemous. ;-) As always, reviews are so appreciated, and I hope this much longer chapter acts as a huge thank you to those who have taken time to write me. Thanks to Tidia who made time in her busy week for this chapter.

"_Destiny is real. And she's not mild-mannered. She will come around and hit you in the face and knock you over and before you know what hit you, you're naked-stripped of everything you thought you knew and everything you thought you didn't know-and there you are!" –C. Joy Bell_

RCJ

"You boys want some coffee?" Chief of Police Fess Carter gestured to a small breakroom off to the right of his office, gesturing Dean and Caleb ahead of him. The man had just finished providing the hunters with, in Dean's opinion, an overly informative, not to mention boring tour of his precinct, and was now guiding them through the bullpen where the newcomers were garnering stares from several of the officers. "We have an espresso machine and one of those fancy new one cup deals, makes any of that flavored shit you might like, along with hot cocoa and tea."

"More perks of being a blue ribbon city?" Dean and Caleb had already been privy to the new state-of- the-art Mission Impossible-like tactical computer center, complete with magical tables and wall mounted flat screens that would have had Sam drooling and making plans for The Tomb. Dean watched the chief grab a mug from an overhead shelf. Carter filled his cup from a pot of dark brew in the corner, before offering Dean and Caleb a couple of Styrofoam cups they filled with the same.

Caleb grabbed a handful of sugar packs. "We're lucky our ten dollar Mr. Coffee is up and running at the station."

Carter opened an adjoining door, leading them directly into his spacious, sun-filled office. "We've gotten a few incentives to keep up the good work since the tide started turning." He went around his desk, gesturing to the large highback black leather chair he was about to sit in. "This perfectly aerodynamic baby is the only thing I've counted as a perk. It has massage fingers for your neck and shoulders."

"Nice." Caleb nodded to the chair.

Dean took a seat in front of Carter's desk. "I'd go out on a limb and say the only special feature our Captain's chair has is the tightly coiled springs that I'm pretty sure he's had shoved up his ass for the last decade."

"Ain't that the truth," Caleb shot him a grin as he claimed the other chair and Dean picked up on the silent message that echoed in his mind. They should look into one of the special chairs for Bobby's Christmas present. "Maybe we should just skip the Chief's spiel on five year plans and grab a copy of the catalog where he got that bad boy."

Carter laughed at their antics. He had bought them as partners, even swallowed the lie that the administrative department on his end had screwed up their appointment, which had been made weeks ago. Dean sometimes marveled at people's gullibility, it made their work much easier. "I'll make sure Sheila gets you boys a copy on the way out. She'll be glad to do something to make amends for the mixup."

"It's not a big deal." Dean shifted in his seat, wincing slightly when the gold badge hooked on his jeans dug into his side.

"Your Captain has quite the way with words."The chief took a drink from his mug before placing it on a coaster on his desk. Dean noticed the framed pictures, one of a younger Carter in dress uniform, another of an attractive blond woman and two teen boys with curly heads the same shade of copper as Carter's hair.

Caleb laughed. "You should hear his rousing speeches at roll call. He can make a seasoned sailor blush."

"I can imagine," Carter folded his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "But he tells me you two are his finest detectives."

"If by finest you mean we were the schmucks with the lowest conviction rates last month, then yeah." Dean rested his elbows on his knees, rolling the Styrofoam cup between his palms. "This wasn't exactly a fieldtrip those in the ranks were vying for."

"What? You boys weren't excited to visit the fine town of Tennison?" Carter's knowing grin belayed his feigned surprise as he turned his chair so that he could gesture to the city beyond his large window. "It's not exactly Vegas, but Atlanta is just a short ride away."

"It was either this or go back into uniform and traffic rotation for a month," Caleb explained with a mock shudder.

"Our traffic beat in the historic district uses bicycles," Dean added for effect. "Can you picture my partner here in those khaki shorts and socks to his knees?"

"That does seem extreme," Carter swiveled to face them once more. "I'll try my best to give you boys something useful to take back to Captain Singer, keep you in plain clothes and in four wheels."

"Like maybe you help us kidnap and gift wrap your Mayor Jameson?" Caleb threw out. "Sounds like he is the man behind all the magic."

Carter's smile tightened. "That's definitely what Jameson wants people to believe."

Dean didn't miss the way the chief's whole body stiffened along with his face. "But that's not the way it is?"

Carter took a deep breath, unclenching his fists, laying them flat on his desk. "Let's just say Mayor Jameson isn't the miracle worker his constituents have painted him to be."

"He took office about the same time the miraculous upswing started," Caleb pointed out. "The media sure does love him; talk about town is he's a sure thing for a Senate seat."

"What people seem to overlook is that I took over as Chief in this precinct six months before that pretty boy rode in on his white Mercedes." Chief Carter jabbed a finger at Caleb, his face reddening. Dean imagined there was a half empty bottle of Maalox tucked in Carter's desk for all matters concerning the mayor.

"And let me tell you, it's no wonder crime was rampant on the streets," Carter continued. "This place was a disaster, IA was all over our Vice unit, a whole neighborhood was protesting a shady shooting of a thirteen year old kid by a veteran detective in front of the federal building the day I came for my interview. Property values were down, the college couldn't recruit from the nicer towns. It's no wonder the Commissioner wanted an outsider to come in and clean house, considering the corruptions in the ranks, but the _real_ miracle is that I didn't turn tail and run the other way after realizing what I was in for."

"Why didn't you?"Dean asked.

"My wife had a once in a career kind of job offer at the college. This was the best move for my family so you might say I took one for the team." Carter took a deep breath, raking his hands through his hair. His voice lowered. "I cut my teeth as a beat cop in Miami, worked my way up to homicide detective where my conviction rate was nothing short of damn impressive, even pulled time in vice before making it to Captain, then Chief of Detectives, a position I held proudly before stepping into run this hellhole two years ago. Not to toot my own horn, boys, but I have done just as much if not a whole hell of a lot more to spark the positive changes in Tennison than our fair Mayor Jameson, and no offense, but the only people I get wanting to knock my door down for an interview is a couple of homicide detectives from the bad side of Memphis."

"No offense taken." Dean glanced at Caleb. His friend was frowning, brows creased as he stared at Carter. Dean cleared his throat to get the Chief's attention. "Do you mind me asking what your secret was to turning this place and the city around?"

"Are you kidding? I'd be glad to share, in fact I'll do you one better. " Carter pushed away from his desk. "I've got flow charts."

**sn**sn**sn**

"Who knew flow charts could make you want to stab yourself in the eye?" Dean stepped out of the police department with a deep breath of fresh air. The sun was high in the sky. His stomach grumbled, reminding him just how long he and Caleb had endured Chief Carter's detailed strategy for turning Tennisons police department into the finely oiled machine it was now.

"Not only did we suffer through Carter's two hour presentation, I doubt the stats on community outreach programs will win us any points in the relevant intelligence area." Caleb slapped Dean in the gut as he started down the concrete stairs that would lead them to the street. "I hate to break it to you, partner, but we're going to be eating thirty dollar salads and drinking Perrier at the first high end place Joshua comes across."

Dean rubbed his stomach, glaring at The Knight. "You didn't come up with anything from your psychic wire tap, Hutch?"

Caleb stopped on the sidewalk, facing Dean with a grimace. "You noticed that."

"You weren't exactly stealthy about it, man. I mean Carter probably just thought you were constipated, but for someone who knows you like me, I recognized the 'about to fry a few synapses' grimace."

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. "I thought I could gleam any thoughts he might have had about The Lance as he was regaling us with all his success."

"And?" Dean took the keys to the Impala out of his pocket, moving towards the parking garage.

"And mostly I only got surface shit about what he was already spinning to us, and what he wanted to have for lunch." Caleb matched Dean's stride. "If he has The Lance he doesn't realize what it is, or how it's tied to all the success in cleaning up the mean streets."

"That kind of sounds like info I could have gotten from amateur hour at the Psychic Network." Dean sent a sideways glance to his friend. "You can usually grab a guy's deepest darkest secrets without breaking a sweat. I thought you might have been plundering in his memory to see if he'd been to any estate auctions in the last couple of years since moving here."

Caleb stopped walking, forcing Dean to do the same. "I didn't realize you wanted me to ransack Chief Carter's psyche, Deuce."

"Would that have been a problem for you if I'd asked?"

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "You got something on your mind, Dean?"

Dean sighed, thoughts of his and Sam's earlier conversation pulling at him, making him itchy for pat answers and explanations. As much as he believed Sam was struggling with some shit of his own, he couldn't completely convince himself that Caleb was up to par. "What's going on with you, Caleb?"

"Besides the fact I'll be eating crow instead of Tennison's World Famous Ribs when we meet up with the dynamic duo? Nothing."

"You're telling me you feel right as rain?" Dean held Caleb's gaze, knowing despite the gift of subterfuge, the other man didn't lie well- at least not to him.

"Is this about your and Sam's conversation at breakfast? The one where he tried to convince you I was off my game? Because you know he's stressed over school, freaking out because things aren't falling perfectly into his ideal plan."

Dean sighed. Lying might not have been an option, but that didn't stop their old friend redirection from making an appearance. "Are you okay, Damien or should I be worried about both you and Sammy?"

"Deuce, I'm telling you it's no big deal." Caleb took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, arms falling to his side in a way that told Dean it might have been a bigger deal than Caleb wanted to admit. "Fucking migraines are screwing with my abilities, throwing me off, that's all, and the only thing you should be worrying about is how to keep Juliet from seeing how extremely awesome your best friend is and deciding she might like to play doctor with me again."

And there was the inappropriate humor. Dean wasn't thrown. "I thought that usually went the other way around, your abilities giving you the headache." Dean arched a brow. "Like when all the demons were running amuck and you were on alert twenty-four seven."

"You really want to argue the whole, 'which came first the chicken or the egg thing,' or do you want to focus on this current hunt and hit Carter's house. Just because he doesn't realize what he's got, doesn't rule out the fact he might have The Spear. Like he said, he was here before Jameson and the decrease in crime rates was the first step in turning this place around."

Dean studied his friend a moment longer, realizing the conversation wasn't going anywhere. Once the irrefutable logic came out, needling Caleb was not the way to get him to open up. They were in the middle of a hunt, after all. Whatever was up with Caleb and Sam could save until they were back at the farm where Dean could pull out a bottle of Jim's finest and get his best friend and little brother good and drunk. "You manage to get Carter's address along with his lunch order, fugly?"

Caleb tapped his head. "I also know his wife, Kelly is working, boys are at school. The place should be empty except for their two Labradoodles, Molly and Jake, that Carter forgot to feed this morning."

"So we pick up some beef jerky on the way?" Dean started for the garage once more, Caleb following. He cut his eyes to The Knight, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers. "What self-respecting guy has a Labradoodle?"

"The same guy who makes colored flow charts, and has a secret fetish for tiny shrimp stuffed croquettes and asparagus."

Dean snorted. "My money is definitely on Carter having The Holy Lance, because I'm not buying his strong arm tactics and iron fist as what whipped all those men into shape."

"He's definitely no Captain Singer." Caleb shot him a grin that said the conversation from before was completely forgotten for the time being. "Maybe those ribs are still on the menu?"

By the time Dean had finished his sweep of the third bedroom he was beginning to resign himself and his grumbling stomach to Joshua's mercy. He looked over at the two dogs, who having finished off two packs of turkey jerky were now lounging on the bed. Dean regretted not saving some of the treats for himself since he doubted Caleb was having any better luck in the downstairs. "I'm guessing you two haven't buried a really long stick with a metal tip in the backyard, huh?"

The bigger dog let its tail swish across the duvet in response, the smaller one content to doze lazily at its friend's side. Dean briefly wondered if Boo would be so easily swayed by strangers bearing dehydrated meat. He rubbed the dog's head with a sigh. "I didn't think so."

Dean turned to close the closet door when twin menacing growls had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. They couldn't get lucky just one damn time. Caleb's shouted warning echoed from below along with a loud crash and had Dean turning, gun in hand to find Raphael and two others he assumed were also angels standing in the center of the room. The dogs showed good sense, clamoring from the bed and scrambling out of the room.

"Fancy meeting you here, Dean Winchester." Raphael tilted his head and inclined his chin to the badge at Dean's side. "Or should I say Officer Starsky?"

"This is why I think all angels should be accompanied by harp music." Dean kept the gun trained on Raphael, though he realized it would serve no real line of defense. As Sam had pointed out earlier, the angels were immune to crude weaponry. Still, it made him feel less vulnerable. "What brings you silently fluttering into my breaking and entering in progress, Raphael? I have every right to arrest you, you know. Heaven doesn't hold any diplomatic immunity."

"Ever the smartass." Raphael's smile was as cold as Dean remembered. "I think we both know why I'm here, Guardian."

Dean's gaze was brought to the doorway as Caleb was pushed through by two more angels. "Look what I found in the kitchen, Deuce."

"Cherub bookends weren't exactly what we were looking for, Damien." Dean shook his head in mock disappointment. "What happened to the corned beef sandwiches and beer?"

Caleb laughed, running a hand under his bleeding nose. "Looks like lunch is going to be further delayed."

"Or perhaps this is a case where you both have already had your last meal?" Raphael lifted a brow.

Dean suddenly found it impossible to hold onto his gun as every bone seemed to disappear from his fingers leaving him with the equivalent of Gumby's hand. "Shit." He was unable to hold back the startled yelp, grabbing at his useless limb with his other.

"Hey!" Caleb barked, starting towards him.

"Stay where you are, mongrel." Raphael kept his eyes on Dean, "Unless you want to lose your feet."

"It's alright, Damien." Dean bit out, lifting his gaze to Caleb, trying to control the panic gripping his heart. The anger and frustration blazing in The Knight's eyes confirmed they were in deep shit. "Angel magic tricks are always a barrel of laughs, but I'd kind of like to keep you intact."

"Then you'll waste no time in telling me where Longinus's Lance can be found." Raphael gestured to the room. "Is it here?"

"What is it with you and the porn-sounding names, Dude? First you were on and on about Michael's Sword, now this guy Longinus and his Lance."

"Do I really need to explain how your disastrous interference in the apocalypse has left me with zero patience for your antics and with even more disdain for your kind, human?"

"Do I really need to explain how I could give a shit about how you feel for my kind after what you and your brothers tried to do to our world?"

The fact Raphael actually chose to take a personal approach to punish him caught Dean by surprise. The backhand to his face was quick and obviously restrained considering Dean's head didn't snap off like a brittle twig. They needed him in one piece, at least until he turned over The Lance. Still, the blow landed him on his ass and had him seeing stars. He might reconsider his typical mouthy tactics.

"I will kill you." Caleb's words were still clear over the ringing in Dean's ears, as was Raphael's amused laughter.

"Better of _your_ kind have tried and failed at that, Mutt."

"I would like to see how long you'd last down in the pit with Lucifer," Caleb spat, struggling against the iron grip of one of the angels who had secured his arms. Dean realized with some dread that still left The Knight free to use his words. "I'm sure your little brother Michael could use some backup. He's Hell Hound chow by now, you know that right?"

Dean had no problem in figuring out where his suicidal tendencies came from as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. The look of amusement in Raphael's dark eyes was unmistakable, as was the spark of anger. "How about I send you to join them in the fun, Reaves? You'll be there soon enough as it is."

Dean's heart pounded at the threat. He took a menacing step towards Raphael. "Do that and I'll never give you The Holy Lance."

"So you do know where it is?" Raphael returned his focus to Dean. "Tell me."

"Right." Caleb snorted. "Dean hands over The Lance and you'll just let us go out of the goodness of your big cupid heart."

Raphael sighed. "Why is it so hard for humans and half-breeds alike to understand how your mouths are often your undoing?"

Caleb's face paled, his lips moving but eliciting no sound.

Raphael returned his gaze to Dean. "I'll take something more important than his vocal cords next, Dean. Perhaps his lungs, maybe his heart."

"Leave him alone." Dean's mind raced with scenarios of how this all could play out. His phone was vibrating from his jacket pocket, alerting him to the fact Sam had to know they were in trouble now, psychic bat signal from Caleb or Triad connection through their rings. Maybe both. That still didn't mean The Scholar and Advisor would make it to aid them in time.

"If you're betting on the rest of your Triad coming to the rescue, then don't. I happen to know their interview with Mayor Jameson has stretched longer than they imagined. He's quite the talker. They're too far away to be of any help."

Dean was considering a prayer to Castiel as his last option when the angel holding Caleb suddenly let go of his charge, both hands going to grasp his head. The others followed suit with audible groans of pain.

"What…" Raphael started only to succumb to whatever invisible force was assaulting his fellow angels. He clawed at his ears, curling into himself and Dean wondered if Castiel hadn't pulled out the the big guns. He searched out Caleb who seemed to be as thrown as he was.

The Knight rebounded quickly. "Move your ass, Deuce!"

Dean was glad to see his friend had recovered his voice as the angels were incapacitated, even more thrilled when he realized the bones in his hand had also been restored. He grabbed his gun and moved to follow Caleb who'd already reached the bedroom door.

"What the hell was that?" Dean jogged down the stairs two at a time. "Divine intervention?"

"Gift horse, Deuce." Caleb stayed at his side. "I'd rather know how in the hell they found us, considering Castiel's cloaking device."

"They reacted like I did the first time Cas tried to communicate with me after I clawed my way from the grave, only all the windows in the house didn't shatter."

"Angels shouldn't be affected by the voices of other angels." Caleb pointed out as he hit the landing and started for the door.

Dean beat him there, jerking it open. "Maybe it was the voice of God?"

"Not quite, but you're close."

They both came to a jarring halt at the sight of the man standing just on the other side. Dean raised his gun having never returned it to his holster and pointed it at the unexpected stranger who held what looked like a combat shotgun laxly at his side. The day was becoming worse by the minute. "Who the hell are you?"

"He's human," Caleb supplied, releasing the safety from his weapon as he moved slightly in front of Dean. "He has a buddy around the house. Both know how to keep their blocks."

"Self protection is sensible protocol in our line of work," the stranger explained.

Dean studied the guy as he stepped onto the small covered porch, hoping like hell the angels didn't rally while they were dealing with yet another twist in this hunt. He looked Dean's age, maybe a little older considering the hint of gray peppering the sides of his black hair. He was an inch or so taller, but not to Sam's sasquatch status, built for speed and agility with a hair cut that screamed military, which fit with the gun he was holding. "What kind of work is that?"

"Hunting, of course." The guy looked from Dean to Caleb. "The name's Reagan, the guy around the back is Owen, no introduction needed on your parts."

"You know who we are?" Dean shot a quick glance to Caleb, then back to Reagan trying to assimilate the face and name. He couldn't claim to know every hunter in the field. Reagan was wearing a ring, but the silver was dark, almost black and it didn't resonate with the same energy that Dean picked up from the hunter rings past Guardian's had given. This man wasn't a member of The Brotherhood.

"Any hunter worth their weight in rock salt knows Dean Winchester-sort of like a kid and Santa Claus." Reagan glanced over his shoulder to where the Impala was parked. Dean noted the late model black van behind his baby. "Your car's hard to miss. The four disintegrated tires make it stand out even more."

"No, no, no." Dean growled taking in the damage the angels had inflicted on his baby. He glanced skyward. "Castiel is so replacing those."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Caleb demanded, ignoring Dean's tirade.

"Saving your asses with a hot extraction?" Reagan's tone was light, reasonable. "Unless The Triad takes objection to non-union rescue missions."

Dean lowered his gun, cutting his gaze to Caleb. They needed a ride, unknown variable or not. "Gift horse, Damien."

"Trojan horse, Dean," Caleb's stubborn glare and the absence of 'Deuce' let Dean know his friend was in full on Knight mode.

"Can you two continue this conversation on the way? My partner's getting a little breathless." Dean refocused on Reagan, noticing for the first time the small black device in his right ear. Reagan brought his hand up to touch it, rolling his eyes at whatever conversation he was picking up from the other end. When he spoke again Dean understood he and Caleb were not the intended recipients. "Keep blowing on your flute, Owen. Arthur and Lancelot are having a roundtable meeting."

Dean wasn't sure what euphemisms the flute represented, but it didn't take a genius to catch their parts. He decided he might like Reagan. "Meeting adjourned. Let's go."

He didn't need to look Caleb's way to know the executive decision would be rehashed later. Dean also knew if he got in the van, bad idea or not, Caleb would follow.

Reagan nodded, speaking into the two-way. "Birds are in hand. E and E in progress, Pan."

"You heard the man, Damien. Escape and evade. We'll figure the rest out later." Dean slid his gun in his holster, starting towards the van. They would have to come back for the Impala, a fact he was not happy about considering it would be hard to explain if Carter happened home, but another encounter with the angels was not something they could risk, not without a plan.

"I don't like _this_ plan." Caleb growled, making it known that he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Dean wasn't sure if that was by use of his abilities or just the fact they knew each other so well, but he wasn't surprised when his best friend reached the vehicle first and turned to block his way.

"That's turning into a common theme on this hunt, man." Dean stepped around him, grabbing the handle to open the sliding door. He met Caleb's frown with one of his own, realizing why Pastor Jim probably didn't spend a lot of time in the field with John Winchester. "You got a better one? I'm all ears."

The pounding of feet drew both their attention to the second man as he came tearing around the side of the house. He slid to a halt in front of them, shoving a green duffel at Caleb, never mind the fact The Knight was still holding his weapon.

"Move your ass, banana. I've got pissed off angels on my six and unless that pea shooter you're holding has some magical bullet I'm not aware of- we need to get the hell out of here."

Dean climbed in the van followed by a grumbling Caleb who threw the duffel in the floorboard, but kept hold of his gun. He slid the door closed. "This day fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it." The new guy agreed as he jumped into the passenger's side, shooting the driver what Dean could only interpret as a look of extreme annoyance. "What the hell, Reagan? What happened to the five minute timeframe?"

Reagan gunned the motor, the van letting out a mean growl that told Dean the engine wasn't standard issue. The squealing of tires spoke to major horsepower and Dean took a moment to study the inside of the vehicle as he kept his ears tuned to Reagan's reply. It was a custom job. The area behind the two swiveling leather chairs he and Caleb filled looked similar to the computer room at Carter's precinct. High-end surveillance and communication equipment filled the space along with a small table and benches that struck Dean as ideal space for concealing weapons.

"Come on, Owen," Reagan spoke as he gunned the gas, throwing Dean and Caleb back into their seats. "It's not like you have any shortage of hot air. I know you can hold your breath for at least a couple of minutes."

"Funny. But I doubt you would have been laughing if I'd missed a few notes and you found yourself scooping up my ashes."

"You two want to cut the married couple routine and explain to me how exactly you pulled that off?" Caleb had leaned forward, choosing to focus on their rescuers rather than the sweet ride.

"You seriously want a fucking debriefing?" Owen turned in the seat so he was facing them, giving Dean the first good look at his face and a better view of the object he was holding, which Dean had mistook as some sort of weapon. Instead, it was a delicate wooden object made up of five pipes. It looked incredibly out of place in the man's large scarred hands. He was tall and lean like Reagan, but the similarities ended there. Though probably close in age, Owen's dark hair wasn't shorn like his buddy's, but long and unkempt in a style similar to Sam's. He wasn't clean shaven, his beard rough and haphazard in an 'I've got better things to do with a blade than run it over my face' kind of way. His eyes were flint gray, but it was the thick jagged scar lying just above the collar of his blue t-shirt, that ran the circumference of his neck that drew Dean's attention. It gave Owen a look of someone who had survived more than his share of bar room brawls. He reminded Dean of one of Bobby's junkyard dogs, Mauler, a pit bull the mechanic had rescued from a life of cage fights. Although Dean got the feeling Owen wasn't as good-natured as the reformed canine that might let you rub his belly one day only to put your ass on the run the very next.

"They have a right to be curious," Reagan took the next right turn that would take them away from Carter's street. "For all they know we could have just performed a Body Snatch."

"I'd say what they have is a serious lack of manners. How about a fucking thank you?"

"How did you know we'd be there?" Caleb continued. "Or who or what was in there with us?"

Owen jabbed a finger towards the equipment behind Dean. "Heat signautes, asshole. Nine total. Two animals, two normal, five of them like solar flares."

"We've seen readings like that before," Reagan added. "It didn't end pretty for the guys we were hunting with."

Owen grunted. "Enough explaining, how about we just bounce the ungrateful bastards at the next intersection? See how long it takes the guys they were tangling with to track them down."

"Not exactly the best way to go about getting an invite into the club." Dean spoke up before Caleb could. He nodded to the metal ring on Owen's hand, identical to the one Reagan wore. He imagined it paid for a hunter to at least look as if he were aligned with the big boys. A hunter's ring offered protection on many levels, but it came with responsibilities. "You two play your cards right and you could have one of those for real."

Owen laughed, his gray eyes darkening as he regarded Dean. "You think we pulled your asses out of the fire because we were hoping The Guardian of The Brotherhood might grant us one of his magical rings?"

"You'll have to forgive Owen," Reagan spoke up, meeting Dean's gaze in the rearview mirror. "He gets a little testy when a plan is interrupted. Surprises never go well in combat."

"You two are former military." Dean had no doubts. He'd been around enough of his father's Jar Head buddies to recognize the swagger, the particular slang.

"SEALS." Reagan nodded to Owen. "Retirement just isn't in our makeup."

"So you left the Navy and joined the ranks of hunters?" Caleb snorted. "We don't exactly advertise in the career centers."

"Had a hunter in our platoon back in Iraq-a guy who'd grown up in the business, your business. He liked to sit around the campfire and talk about all the shit that goes bump in the night." Owen shook his head. "I thought the bastard was ape shit crazy, brain damaged from drown proof exercise gone wrong maybe, or just fucked up by one too many tours."

"Until we pulled a job in Haiti a few years back and saw some hoodoo up close." Reagan took a turn out of the suburbs, headed for the main highway that would take them back into Tennison. Dean felt an irrational sense of safety as they quickly gained proximity to the rest of their Triad. "He saved our asses, and we started paying attention."

"So he made the job sound so good you decided to pick up the wooden crosses and rock salt?" Caleb glanced at Dean. "You buying this?"

"The three of us started a private security firm when we got back stateside,"Reagan explained. "Hunting started out as hobby, just a way to blow off steam after a day at the office. It kind of took on a life of its own."

"Like golf?" Dean quirked a brow at Caleb, trying to envision what it would be like to come at what they did as something as mundane as a favorite sport. "Equipment's probably cheaper, Damien."

"Right." Caleb rolled his eyes. "Callaway clubs and MAXFLI balls are far pricier than your garden variety shotgun and silver bullets. I'll be sure and let my grandfather and his country club set know."

"What can we say? Fortifying mansions, hunting down rich cheating spouses, embezzlers and the likes pays good, but it just isn't as satisfying as putting a bullet in some evil sonofabitch." Owen grinned at Dean. Dean decided Owen definitely wasn't in the same league as Mauler. Dogs attacked out of fear, fought for survival. Owen was some other animal entirely. "You guys jumpstarting the apocalypse last year gave us a lot of opportunity to get our jollies."

"Glad we could do the favor and help keep your skills sharp." Dean didn't miss the fact Caleb had abandoned his gun in lieu of rubbing his temples. He wondered if his friend had found evidence the two wannabes were telling the truth, or had just given himself one hell of a headache for nothing.

"Speaking of demons." Owen glanced at Caleb. "You really related to them, pretty boy? Because I somehow expected you to be bigger and uglier."

"So you two just happened to be at Sheriff Carter's house on a potential job?" Dean used a Sam tactic, knowing he'd be called to the carpet for it later. He couldn't explain it, but Dean didn't want Caleb trading barbs with Owen. Not that he didn't think Damien could hold his own, SEAL or not, but Owen was not the kind of man to mix it up with on a bad day, maybe not even on the best day.

"Yes," Reagan explained. "We finished a poltergeist gig in Moorehead a few days ago where we saw a news report about Tennison. It peeked our interest."

"In our experience little towns don't do 180's unless someone's assassinated the dictator or paid off the press." Owen rubbed a hand over his beard. "Not that that would ever happen in our great country."

Reagan searched out Dean in the mirror once more. "We put in some research and decided to check it out since we were so close."

"We make it our business to know who's in town so imagine our surprise when the legendary Triad rides in on our coattails yesterday. We'd definitely heard stories about you three, but until now you were kind of like Big Foot." Owen directed his eyes to Caleb.

"You three showing up confirmed we were onto something big," Reagan added, quickly. "We've crossed paths with plenty of other hunters, but never you three."

"You mean two super SEALS didn't have the gig all figured out from the get go?" Caleb asked, keeping his eyes locked on Owen. "Of course it did take your boys ten years to track down bin Laden."

"We'd been here long enough to check out Mayor Jameson, seeing he seemed to be reaping the most rewards from Tennison's sudden liberation from crime. Carter was second on our list." Reagan was just as quick as Dean on trying to head off what promised to be a bloody showdown between his partner and The Knight.

"When Jameson came back squeaky clean, we thought the bastard sheriff might have made a deal with one of _your_ boys, Reaves." Owen licked his lips. "Crossroad demon or something similar."

So much for diplomacy. Rescue or not, Dean had taken all of Owen's mouth he was going to. He leaned forward, gripping the hilt of his favorite blade tucked in the sheath stitched in his boot. "Listen up, Tadpole, show some respect, before I take that Cracker Jack ring and your finger with it. You're speaking to The Knight of The Brotherhood, in company of The Guardian, and in case someone didn't fill you in on the chain of command I'll explain it in terms you should know. _Me_," Dean hitched a thumb towards himself. "Commander and fucking Chief. _Him_," He jabbed a finger in Caleb's direction. "Admiral, which I believe is the Navy's equivalent of a six star General, or even more fitting General of the Armies." Dean was out of his seat and had the blade dangerously pressed against Owen's throat before the man had a chance for a smart ass comeback. "_You and your boy_, in my book,not even midshipmen yet." He pressed just hard enough to draw blood. "Understand, soldier?"

"Yes, sir." Owen replied, waiting until Dean had taken the blade from his jugular, and edged back into his seat before letting out a loud Hoo Yah. He ran a finger over his neck, a wild grin lighting his eyes. "Now that's more like it." He slapped Reagan on the shoulder, then used the dash as a drum. "This fucking gig is looking up!"

"You're one crazy sonofabitch," Caleb shot Dean a look that said maybe he should have just finished the bastard off when he had the chance.

Reagan took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Caleb. "A little bit of crazy comes with the territory. Someone who's been through a war should understand that."

"We get it." Dean wasn't a hypocrite, although he liked to think most hunters had at least one foot in reality and did what they did for noble reasons. "But even the best soldier doesn't get away with talking shit to his commander. You don't want me to have to explain The Brotherhood's version of a court martial."

"Owen will behave." Reagan shot his friend a look. "He's just big on testing boundaries, like a toddler."

"Or a Jack Russell Terrier." Owen rubbed his neck again, smiling at Dean. "Give me another chance, Commander?"

"What did you use on the angels?" Caleb asked before Dean could respond. The Knight was a dog with a bone.

"Pan's flute." It was Reagan who replied, catching Dean's eye once more. "You weren't too far off on the rescue being courtesy of The Almighty's voice."

"Except that it came from the music of the gods." Owen handed Dean the instrument, which on closer inspection Dean could see was fashioned out of dried reeds instead of wood. "A little something we picked up on a mission to Tripoli. The Greek Peninsula truly is a treasure."

"Let me guess. You took it from the Arcadian water nymph, Syrinx?" Caleb took the flute from Dean, running his fingers over it.

Owen nodded. "Some days it really pays to be able to swim like a fish."

Caleb snorted, handing the object back to Dean. "The images I'm picking up say it's genuine."

"How did you know it would work against angels?" Dean turned the instrument over in his hand, marveling at the fact yet another legend had revealed itself to be true.

"Battle of the Titans ringing a bell?" Reagan slowed the van and Dean realized with some relief they were in the middle of Tennison. "Pan used his flute to let out a horrible screech that sent them scattering in terror."

"Apparently Titans and angels have similar energies," Owen added. "Go figure."

"They share frequencies that can be distorted and scrambled by the right tone." Dean had used similar science to create his ghost grenade and psychic scrambler. "Smart."

"We're not just muscle." Reagan pulled the van over to the curb, directly in front of the Sheriff's office. He put it in park and turned to look at Dean. "Both Owen and I graduated top of our BUD/S class. We'd be an asset to any team."

"I thought you didn't perform that _hot extraction_ to get a ring?" Caleb asked, his gaze going from Reagan to Owen. "Besides, The Brotherhood doesn't recruit."

"It's more like special appointment." Dean offered the flute to Reagan. "Consider this rescue mission your application."

Reagan shook his head, slapping Owen's wrist when the man reached out to take the instrument. "Consider the flute a token of our appreciation for The Brotherhood's service in saving the world."

"But Reagan…"

"Drop it, Owen. It's not like the angels have a reason to come looking for us." Reagan met Dean's gaze. "I have a feeling that whatever this gig is, it's a little over our heads. I'm sure The Triad has it covered."

"We do." Caleb was quick to answer, grabbing the handle and sliding the door to the van open. "Grunt forces not needed."

"And now The Guardian has a reason to track us down after the hunt to return our toy and buy us a round of beers." Reagan nodded to the flute. "Don't forget what else Pan was known for, Winchester. That thing draws women like flies, which is why my partner is so fond of it."

"With his looks, I can understand why." Caleb climbed out of the vehicle. "Let's go, Deuce. I'm starving."

Dean tucked the flute in his coat and held out his hand to Reagan. "I didn't catch your last name?"

Reagan gripped his hand and Dean felt a surge of energy spark from his ring, tingling through his hand to blossom like a spray of cold sea water against his chest. He glanced at Caleb, his first thought of Sam being in trouble, though the sensation was not the same as the Triad warning signal, but The Knight's face showed nothing but impatience for Dean's lingering.

"It's Walsh. Reagan Walsh."

Dean refocused on the hunter. The tingling faded as Dean released the other man's grip, but Dean still needed to take a deep breath before responding. "Thanks for the ride."

"Any time." Reagan grinned. "I really hope you find what you're looking for."

Dean nodded, catching Caleb's need to be out of the van. He jumped out and slid the door close with more force than necessary.

"See you around, banana," Owen gave Caleb a mock salute as the van pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the midday traffic.

"What the fuck with the fruit insults?" Caleb groused. "I expected so much more from a Navy Man."

"Don't be so disappointed, Damien." Dean slapped his friend on the back. "In SEAL speak; banana is right up there with shit for brains and moronic bastard."

Caleb rolled his eyes as Dean pulled out his cell phone. "I forgot you've watched every military film made, and if you're texting Sammy - I already sent him a message via the psychic hotline letting him and Josh know we were okay and to be on the lookout for Raphael."

"Don't be jealous because Dad said you wouldn't last a day in the marines." Dean continued to tap on his keyboard. "And I'm telling Jimmy Olsen and his right wing conservative partner to meet us at that awesome mobile home turned culinary delight on the edge of town. After all, rogue angels on our grid far outweighs any intel they could have dug up at Jameson's interview."

"Just because I didn't always see the importance of taking orders, doesn't mean I wouldn't have made a damn good Green Beret, or Navy SEAL." Caleb pointed to the phone. "Don't forget to mention the psychopath Special Forces duo turned wannabe hunters. That scores us not only the locale of our choice, but a free lunch on Sawyer. I'm ordering two racks of ribs."

"You say that as if your problem with authority is in the past." Dean finished his message and stuffed the phone back in his jacket. "Should we get a cab?"

"Why not blow on your new buddy's flute and call us up a couple of hot chicks in a convertible?" Caleb ran a hand through his hair, searching the streets for a taxi. "It's not like this is Manhattan where you can't step off a curb without being hit by a fucking cab."

"I can take you where you need to go." The voice behind them, accompanied by the hand on his shoulder had Dean whirling to face his grim faced friend in the trench coat.

"Damn it, Castiel. That's a good way to give a guy a heart attack."

"Scaring you wasn't my intention."

"Intentions aren't exactly your strong point, man."

"Sort of like your timing-it sucks." Caleb growled.

"I know Raphael is here. There was no need for me to make myself scarce any longer, as you say."

"You couldn't have figured that out an hour ago?" Caleb threw his hands up.

"Gift horse, Damien." Dean pointed out, his mouth twitching at the look and hand gesture his best friend shot him. "Besides,I thought you were starving?"

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Spear of Destiny

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Sorry for the delay in this posting. I hope the extra long chapter makes up for it. This is the chapter I have been holding out on; picking at it endlessly I'm afraid. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you enjoy it.

"_You can never know about your destiny; are the people you meet there to play a part on your own destiny, or do you exist just to play a role in theirs?" –Libba Bray_

**RCJ**

Caleb cursed Castiel not for the first time as one look at the plate of ribs before him had his stomach flipping around like the magic jumping beans Sam used to be so fascinated with when he was five. The ethereal travel had no doubt killed his appetite and made the prospect of him throwing up what was left of his breakfast quite likely, proving Dean's jibe that there was no such thing as a free lunch. If the angel to blame for his current misery hadn't disappeared with the excuse of rallying his troops after dumping them at the back of the diner Caleb would have had a target for his displeasure. As it was he took his frustration out on his roll, trying to at least appear to get some enjoyment out of winning their wager as Dean filled Sam and Joshua in on their afternoon.

"Please tell me the melody played was not Berlioz's "Dance of the Sprites." Joshua lifted his glass of water studying the looking for evidence of shoddy dish washing. Caleb might not have been able to eat, but he could take some petty satisfaction that Joshua was forced to lower himself to dining at The Silver Chariot. "That would be too ridiculous even for our lives."

"I know the idea of Pan's flute is almost as insane to you as a functioning restaurant not having Perrier and grilled prawns, Josh but it's true." Dean cleaned another rib, washing the barbecue down with a gulp of beer. "Raphael and his winged henchmen didn't know what hit them."

"These hunters just happened to have the one weapon that would incapacitate angels on hand?" Sam was sitting directly in front of Caleb and The Knight met his gaze, frowning at him when Sam scrutinized his untouched plate the way he had Pan's flute earlier. The Scholar was throwing down the skeptical card, as usual.

Caleb put down the roll he'd picked apart and wiped his hands on his napkin, resisting the urge to wipe at the fine sheen of sweat he could feel dotting his upper lip."You ever heard of a gift horse, Runt?"

"It rings a bell." Sam swept his contemplative gaze to Caleb's face, the wrinkling of his brow proving what the faint ache in Caleb's head was telling him. The kid was trying to read him.

"That's our theme for the day, Sammy." Dean nudged Caleb's arm, eyeing his lunch in a completely different manner than his kid brother. "You finished with those, Damien?"

"Help yourself, Deuce." Caleb slid the ribs in front of Dean, reinforcing his mental shields in a manner that Sam would experience much like a slamming door. The telepathy cost him. The rhythmic pounding behind his eyes kicked up a notch causing his mouth to water in an unpleasant manner that had nothing to do with the flavorful aromas filling the tiny bus-like structure, but at least Sam backed off. "Castiel's mode of travel makes the hangover from a three day tequila bender feel like a nervous stomach."

Sam was doing his kicked puppy imitation but averted Caleb's forced smirk, switching his attention to Dean. "If I remember right, Dad didn't give much credence to any unexpected breaks during a job."

"Coincidences are rare in our line of work." Joshua broke in, having finished the small salad he'd ordered. He disdainfully eyed the accompanying bowl of clam chowder, using his spoon to investigate the thick lumps bobbing on the surface. Caleb had to look away, a hand going to his gut. "It seems odd that these hunters were more prepared than The Triad."

"I told you they were _SEALS,"_ Dean started on Caleb's lunch, his lead-lined stomach obviously more accustomed to travelling angels. "Amateur hunters or not, those bastards don't go into any situation without contingency plans."

"Maybe we should take a page out of their book. Both of you could have been killed."Caleb felt a backwash of Sam's fear and a twinge of guilt hit him for shutting the kid out. It wasn't like Sam to play nursemaid, further proof they were all still screwed up and expecting the worst after the Lucifer ordeal, but he didn't need hovering. That was The Knight's job.

"They need me alive, at least until they get their hands on The Lance." Dean used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, and Caleb couldn't hold back a grin when Joshua grabbed a stack of napkins from the empty table beside them, placing them in front of Dean with a huff. They'd managed to miss the lunch crowd, landing before the dinner rush. Except for two old men in the corner playing chess, they were the only customers in The Silver Chariot at 3:15 on a mid-week afternoon. Caleb wanted a refill on his third cup of coffee, but figured their waitress was grabbing a quick break in the lull seeing as she seemed to be the only staff, except for the cook, he'd caught a glimpse of in the kitchen.

"Still didn't stop Raphael from getting his point across." Caleb refilled his water glass instead; thankful their server had at least had the forethought to leave them a full pitcher. He briefly wondered if he could swallow a couple of Tylenol without warranting another psychic scan from The Scholar.

"I wish I could get Cas to teach me some of those tricks." Dean shot Caleb a sideway glance as he picked up another rib, licking sauce from his fingers. "Taking your ability to run your mouth could definitely come in handy."

"I imagine one would need access to miracles to accomplish that grand task." Joshua had apparently found the soup unfit for consumption. He'd moved it aside, doctoring his coffee with cream instead. "It leaves me feeling quite grateful that we have Pan's flute in our arsenal, no matter the way it fell into our hands."

"Do you think this Reagan Walsh knows what's going on here in Tennison?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean glanced up from his plate long enough to shake his head. "I don't think so. They were just starting to put the pieces together."

Caleb took a deep breath putting his full focus on the conversation, instead of the ache in his stomach that now mirrored the one in his head. "Connecting the dots between one town's extreme good fortune and a Biblical weapon as the culprit is one hell of a leap, Runt. Without some kind of psychic premonition, clue in a hunter's journal, or maybe a lucky blip in a widely cast research net, it would be unlikely as hell. If Castiel hadn't pointed us in that direction, it would have taken us weeks if ever to make the connection."

"Damien's right, Walsh and his buddy were following the more typical elimination. They'd worked themselves up to Crossroads demon, probably on their way to a genie or some other wish granting entity."

Sam frowned at him. "So you buy them just handing this gig as well as their only defense against angels over to The Triad and leaving town like good little hunters?"

"I didn't say that," Caleb countered only to have Dean interrupt him.

"Why wouldn't they leave, Damien?"

"Oh, I don't know, Deuce isn't there some kind of creed about them always getting their man?" Caleb snapped.

"That's the fucking Canadian Mounties, Dudley Do-Fus." Dean put down the last of the ribs. "Besides, Walsh doesn't know what he's looking for, or for that matter even who he's really up against. The average hunter doesn't usually have run-ins with Castiel's brothers, unless they happen to be working for us."

Caleb shook his head. "I don't trust them, Dean."

"That makes two of us, Caleb, but I think we have bigger issues than worrying about a couple of guys spending their free time playing intramurals on our major league field. Unlike them, hunting isn't a hobby for us. We need to find Longinus's Lance and get the hell out of here."

"You're preaching to the choir." Caleb rubbed his eyes, silently cursing the fluorescent lighting above them, which had cast everything with a weird glowing aura. He blinked, focusing on Sam. "Did you two dig up anything useful at Jameson's?"

"Besides a Pulitzer Prize winning interview with a future president of the United States? Not really." Sam tugged at the shirt he was wearing and Caleb noticed the dull brown stain splashed across the front for the first time. "While under the ruse of cleaning my shirt, I took leave of our interview on the enclosed patio and managed to search nearly every conceivable place in his home. There was no sign of The Lance."

"I take it your interview with Chief Carter shed some suspicion on him as a candidate considering you both ended up planning an impromptu sweep of his residence." Joshua let the fact he thought they should have regrouped beforehand remain unsaid. Caleb gave him credit for showing some restraint.

Dean picked up his fork and dug into his coleslaw."Let's just say he gave a stirring argument about how he was the catalyst for the changes in Tennison."

"But his place was a bust before the angels showed up," Caleb added, marveling at his best friend's ability to still put away the food.

"That brings up the question of how exactly the angels found you." Sam looked from his brother to Caleb. "Did you get any kind of warning before they showed up?"

"It happened too fast." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "One minute I was rummaging through the pantry, the next I was being slammed face first into one of the metal shelves."

"They sure as hell didn't seem surprised to find us there," Dean offered. "But then again they aren't big on betraying any emotion."

"Unless you count extremely pissed off as an emotion," Caleb added. "They express that one quite well."

"They could have followed the same trail as Walsh and his buddy, drawn the same conclusions we have so far." Dean swapped his fork for his beer, taking a big gulp with a satisfied sigh.

"Which means they are probably drawing the same blanks and feeling similar frustration." Joshua took a drink of his coffee. "With Castiel making an unexpected appearance, I daresay patience is not a virtue Angel-kind embraces."

"See Damien's earlier point about anger." Dean took a few napkins from the pile Joshua had supplied him with and made a big show of wiping his mouth and hands. "At least we have some leverage to use against them now."

"Josh has the most hot air," Caleb pushed himself away from the table, resolved to his need to visit the bathroom where he could throw up and take his painkillers in peace. "I vote we let him play Pan."

"And here I was thinking you much more suiting in light of your affection for nymphs," Joshua replied.

"Pan was actually the god of shepherds, their flocks, and hunting," Sam supplied. "Maybe Dean should hold onto it."

"I'm not the good shepherd, Sam, besides he was also the god of the fields, wooded glens, and the season of spring." Dean was not going to be out shown by his little brother. "Sounds very earthy to me, and that's more The Scholar's element."

Caleb pointed a finger at Sam as he stood, making the move as casual as possible. "Let's not forget Pan's freakish looks. Have at it, Billy Goat Gruff."

"Fuck you." Sam growled, dismissing Caleb in light of the slur. It was exactly what Caleb hoped, a timely distraction.

"Where you going, Damien?"

At least for Sam. Caleb sighed. "To the bathroom if you must know. You need to come powder your nose, Deana?"

Dean patted his stomach. "Nope, just going to take your dessert if you're planning on being awhile."

"Knock yourself out, Kiddo. It's on, Josh."

"Dessert? I remember wagering lunch, not a five course feast."

Caleb made his way to the bathroom on the far end of the restaurant, catching Dean's rebuttal as to why no meal was complete without pie. Later he would blame his diverted attention along with his physical state for not performing a psychic sweep of the room before entering. There had been no new patrons since they arrived, and he hadn't expected company. He pushed the door in, latching it behind him before going straight to the sink. The room was divided by a half wall, separating the commode from the vanity. One harsh overhead light cast the room in a dull yellow glow, an exhaust fan whirring loudly. Caleb turned on the faucet, dipping his hands in the cold water, which he splashed on his face. It was when he went to reach for the paper towels that he caught movement in the mirror.

The man that stepped from around the partition was not on the surface threatening. He looked out of place; with a custom tailored suit Joshua would have given his stamp of approval to, and slick looks that would have made him a noteworthy opponent for Mayor Jameson in any political arena. For a snap second Caleb considered him some sort of apparition, like the ones of John and Atticus Finch, but then the psychic force the stranger emitted slammed against Caleb's mental shields.

"Stay where you are. Keep your hands where I can see them, and don't even think about reaching out telepathically." The man actually took a slight bow. "I'm Jonah Scott and as you well know by now, I will know if you do."

"And you'll do what?" Caleb straightened, turning slowly to face the man, his hand on the gun strapped to his side. The suit wasn't holding a weapon; it wouldn't take but a second for Caleb to have the upper hand.

"He'll let me give this pretty young thing a scar to match my own." Owen emerged from the barricaded section as well, dragging their waitress in front of him. He held a blade to her throat, one of his large hands cupped tightly over her mouth.

"What the hell is this?" Caleb ignored Scott's directive, drawing his gun and aiming it at Owen.

"_This_, unlike earlier today is a body snatch." Owen grinned. "In laymen's terms, a covert operation to capture high-value enemy personnel."

"It looks more like a suicide mission." Caleb's stomach spasmed and he fought the urge to double over. The presence of three grown men and a woman in the cramped space was smothering; reminding him of some of the club bathrooms from his college days when running into strange standoffs was a given, and typically not unpleasant. "Let the girl go and you might get out of here alive."

"Isn't that sweet how he's so concerned about your safety sweetheart?" Owen pressed his lips above the girl's ear, kissing her on the head. "He might not give a shit if he knew it only took Jonah here sliding you a couple of Ben Franklins across the counter for you to slip that nasty little concoction into his coffee."

"She's a struggling college student," the sharp-dressed psychic spoke up, running a hand over his tie. "I'm a very persuasive businessman when I need to be. Now put your gun on the floor and kick it away from you."

"Come on, Jonah, call a spade a spade. She's a conniving cock tease." Owen said as he pressed the knife harder against the girl's throat. It brought a line of blood and choked sobbing from the waitress whose terrified eyes pleaded with Caleb to do as they asked. "But knowing your type, Reaves- you really don't want to see this sweet young thing bleed out on this stinking bathroom floor just because she got a little greedy and dosed you with something that gave you just enough of a belly ache to get you in here alone?"

The only one Caleb wanted to see bleeding out was the crazy SEAL, but he had no doubts the man would slit the girl's throat if he didn't do what they were asking. He slowly lowered his gun to the floor, giving it a kick that sent it skittering over the linoleum. "So it was you who ruined my free lunch? I'm going to enjoy taking the money you own me out of your hide, Owen."

"It will be so fun to see you try." Owen grinned. "But Jonah here, being the irritatingly logical guy that he is, says I have to keep my restraint until we get what we want."

Caleb eyed the psychic. "Which is?"

"The Holy Lance of course."

Caleb silently put another check on the list of things he would hold against Castiel. "Never heard of it."

Jonah smiled at him. "Funny because my source says that's not true."

Caleb glanced at the door, for once wishing Sam's mothering had kicked into overdrive and prompted a bathroom visit of his own. Even if The Scholar did a telepathic check after Caleb's earlier response to his trying, he was quite sure Jonah could easily block it. "Maybe your source is faulty."

"No. My abilities have never led me down the wrong path." Jonah touched his head. "You see my gift is finding interesting things."

Caleb met the other man's gaze. Psychic abilities ran the gambit, but he'd yet to run across one who possessed such a refined talent. "You'd have me believe your mind is the equivalent of a psychic divining rod?"

Owen snorted. "Reagan calls him The Golden Compass."

"It's preferable to death visions, yes?" Jonah took a step closer to Caleb. "Although I do envy your ability to project, to inflict punishment on an opponent with just a thought. I hear you're quite good."

"Would you like a demonstration?" Caleb lifted a brow in challenge, well aware Owen was watching them closely, waiting for any reason to shake his restraint and demonstrate his resolve on the girl. John used to say an effective team was in sync with each other at all times, precognitive of the other's moves, and able to respond in kind. It was something he'd always shared with Dean and Sam, It was something he recognized in others, although rare to find. He knew without testing his abilities to read Jonah, that he and Owen had worked together a long time. Jonah was the platoon member Reagan spoke about earlier.

"Perhaps another time. I think we both know you're not exactly on your A-game. It's taking your best efforts to keep me out of your head. The drug we gave you isn't helping."

"What do you want?" Caleb resisted the urge to wipe the sweat threatening to drip in his eyes from his brow.

"We want you to be our guest for a little while, give your Triad a little extra incentive to lead us to the Lance," Owen replied.

"So much for Dean's theory about your buddy Walsh not having an agenda." Caleb kept his eyes on the psychic, knowing he was the one calling the shots. The lack of attention would annoy Owen.

"Reagan always has an agenda," Jonah admitted. "It's what makes him an excellent Commander."

"And he always gets what he wants," Owen added. Caleb couldn't help but to think about the Mounties. He cut his gaze to the overzealous SEAL.

"Sorry to disappoint your fearless leader, but my Triad doesn't have The Lance."

"But my vision says you will, more specifically Dean Winchester will." Jonah's gray eyes lit up with energy, an excitement that reminded Caleb of Sam when he happened on a piece of obscure research that fascinated him. "See, I usually get a clear image of a location, maybe a city or a specific landmark when hints of particular object come our way. Imagine my surprise when all I kept getting was a very clear image of one person-The Guardian of The Brotherhood. Dean Winchester is the key to The Holy Lance."

"And you are our leverage in making sure he turns it over like a good little boy."

"You really think you're going to take me out of here with The Guardian and Scholar out front?"

"We'll go out the way we came in." Jonah nodded to a small window on the wall closest to them. It was the roll out kind, just wide enough for a body to slip through. The screen was missing.

"You can't begin to wrap your head around the places we've gotten into and out of without anyone the wiser, banana."

"They'll know something is wrong."

"You mean because of your ring." Jonah lifted his hand where Caleb noted the dark silver band on his finger identical to the ones Owen and Walsh wore. "The drug we gave you, although not pleasant, isn't deadly. No one is physically threatening you at the moment. We understand quite well how the internal alarm system works, hence why we needed the girl for incentive. Now, you're simply making a choice to hear us out, to come with us. Coercion doesn't rate high enough on Merlin's scale I suppose. By the time you're away from here and you become truly at risk, it will be too late for your friends to do much about it."

"In other words, Reaves," Owen laughed. "Semantics are a bitch."

"You've put a lot of thought into this." Caleb clenched his fist, pressing his thumb against the cool silver of his ring hoping the logic Jonah was spinning wasn't true. Control was his friend, he reminded himself. The alarm sounded when he took a bump to the head, surely it would give some kind of warning when he was being kidnapped, coercion be damned.

To admit he was extremely disappointed when Dean didn't show up as he was climbing through the window after Jonah, who waited for him just below the short drop in the grungy alley behind The Silver Chariot, was a grandiose understatement.

"See, that wasn't so bad." Jonah waved him towards the very familiar van, ushered him inside where he made quick work of stripping Caleb of his knife and backup gun before handcuffing him to a metal bar that ran the length of the back carriage. Caleb tried to focus on the psychic link he held open to the waitress, telepathically keeping watch over her fate instead of the fact he was being led to a unknown end like a docile calf to slaughter, but the connection kept slipping from his grasp. Once Owen was clear of the girl he could reach out to Sam, warn his Triad.

"If you're thinking you can now contact your Scholar at risk only to yourself, I'll spare you the headache and point out the witch's purse hanging above your head." Jonah lifted his gaze to the medicine bag dangling from the ceiling. "Your Triad isn't the only one who appreciates the talents of crafters."

Caleb ground his teeth, recognizing the object hanging above him. A good witch, knowing their intended target, could render the strongest of psychics impotent. "Today is not my lucky day."

"Look at it this way. You've got one thing going for you, Reaves-you saved an innocent's life. The girl will be fine. Owen can be overzealous, but he listens to Reagan."

"Seeing as how Owen is obviously a psychopath, I find that hard to believe." Caleb couldn't resist trying to touch Jonah's mind, to at least attempt some kind of offensive, but his best psychic push rendered nothing, like shouting for help in the middle of a tornado.

"Owen has his issues, but trust me when I say that he is bound to Reagan. It's a special connection that at times amazes me, at others pisses me off, but he'll listen to him."

"Oh yeah," Caleb rolled his eyes, yanking at the cuffs that held him. "What makes Owen and Reagan's bond so special that it outweighs your pal Owen's obvious first nature for all things evil?"

Jonah smiled at him. "You're a Knight, you tell me?"

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Dean looked up at the sound of the clanking cow bell on The Chariot's front door. Reagan Walsh stood framed in the sunlight. He put down his beer, glancing to the bathroom door where Caleb had just gone, expecting his best friend to reappear as soon as he sensed the latest customer. He cut his eyes to Sam. "Speak of the devil."

Sam and Joshua turned to regard the newcomer. "That's one of the hunters?" his brother asked.

"Reagan Walsh." Dean nodded to the man who lifted a hand in greeting and made his way towards their table. There was an echo of the energy Dean experienced earlier when he and Reagan had shaken hands in the van. He looked to Sam again searching his face for any sign he was getting the same odd vibe.

"Dean." Reagan braced his hands on the back of the chair Caleb had vacated and Dean was grateful he didn't have to chance another physical encounter. "We meet again."

Dean forced a grin. If Sam had picked up on anything, it was overshadowed by his keen interest in the newcomer. "Looks like SEALS and hunters share the same taste in food as well as recreation."

Reagan laughed. "Whether in Istanbul or Hometown, USA, the little family run joints are always the best."

"I'm quite sure the quality of the meat is probably comparable as well," Joshua mused.

Dean looked past his Advisor to the door. "Where's your partner, Owen?"

"He's around," Reagan waved a hand towards the kitchen. "I'm just here for a special take-out order."

"Doesn't look like it's ready yet." Dean glanced to the empty counter, noting he hadn't seen their waitress in a while, or heard the cook and dishwasher banging about in the back. The two old men with the chess board in the corner didn't seem concerned about their empty coffee cups, too wrapped up in their game.

"You're welcome to wait with us." Sam's offer had Dean stifling a groan, and silently cursing his brother's inquisitive nature. He flashed The Scholar a look, letting Sam know he understood it wasn't manners that had prompted the invite. The meek smile and shoulder shrug his brother offered him in return let Dean know his brother had picked up on the silent message he'd sent about cats and curiosity.

"Don't mind if I do." Reagan took Caleb's chair.

Dean reached for his coffee to hide the discomfort he suddenly felt at having the man in suck close proximity. "Sam, Josh, this is Reagan Walsh."

"Just like with your brother there's no need for introduction on your part." Reagan extended his hand over the table to Sam. "I know The Scholar."

"Thanks for helping out this morning." Sam shook the man's hand, and Dean waited to see if his brother might flinch or look Dean's way. "It's appreciated more than you know."

Reagan dismissed the thank you, turning to Joshua. "I know you're Joshua Sawyer, though I've never quite grasped exactly what your position entails in The Triad or why The Guardian would need advisement."

"That's quite alright. The magnitude and burden I bare as Advisor is hard for any normal person to comprehend." Dean didn't miss the 'what the hell' scowl Joshua favored him with, or the fact Reagan didn't offer any courtesy greeting to The Advisor. "The Guardian rarely understands the value of my services either."

"Take it from someone who knows, a good commander usually doesn't appreciate the suits reeling him in."

Dean leaned on the table, putting his coffee cup down. "Don't let Joshua's gushing modesty fool you. He's our secret weapon."

"I imagine The Triad has a multitude of resources at their disposal." Reagan looked at Dean. "Modest counsel ranking the least impressive."

"There are probably a lot of things about The Triad you wouldn't understand." Dean noted the change in Joshua's tone, a warning edge that was rarely there. Their Advisor's refined manner and slick speech could be misleading, letting one forget at his core he was a hunter whose family tree boasted not only former Triad members, but notorious crafters as well. "Even those who wear _our_ rings aren't privy to all the details."

"You're probably right, Josh." Reagan gave an easy smile, a light chuckle. "I should really keep my mouth shut about things I don't know about."

"I prefer Joshua actually, and I find that in business and in hunting that's usually a good rule of thumb."

Dean sighed, noting that Caleb wasn't the only one who had taken an instant dislike to Walsh. He glanced at his brother, hoping to ease the mounting tension. "Maybe you should put out some kind of informational packet for potential hunters, Sammy? A recruiting catalogue about Brotherhood history, 'Be all you can be in The Brotherhood'."

"Don't go to the trouble on my part," Reagan kept his eyes on Dean. "I know all about Merlin and the gifts he bestowed to three orphans in hopes of protecting the order that Arthur's precious Knights of The Round Table held in such high regards." Reagan glanced at Joshua. "I even understand that Merlin himself acted as Advisor to those first fledging Triads, and that's why as a tribute to the old magician Advisors have always had some sort of crafting background."

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood at attention, his whole body stiffening. He slid his chair back slightly, turning so his body was facing Reagan. "Did your SEAL buddy, the hunter spout all those tales around the campfire? Because you didn't mention that your pal was in The Brotherhood."

"Jonah isn't in The Brotherhood, but surely you don't think that gag order all recipients receive upon getting their rings keep the legends completely hush-hush? Your secret order isn't exactly as well-known as the Masons, but word gets around."

Dean kept his voice low, but made sure to get his point across. "I'm not sure you've gotten the full story, or you wouldn't be sitting here acting like you were chatting it up with potential lodge brothers instead of pissing off someone who could very easily end you."

"Actually, I think it's you who hasn't gotten the entire story, Dean."

Whether it was the fact Reagan was used to facing imminent doom on a daily basis, or the fact he didn't buy what Dean was telling him, wasn't clear. What was crystal to Dean now was that the man had not only a death wish, but an agenda. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that in all the times I've heard the story of Merlin and his great Brotherhood recanted to me, I've never once caught mention of Mordred."

"Mordred?" Dean was confused by the sudden veer in the conversation had taken. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Mordred was King Arthur's illegitimate son, or in some stories his nephew."

Dean glared at Sam for the unhelpful response. "I know _who_ Mordred is, Sam." As Sam and Dean had gotten older, Jim had replaced the tales of The Dragons and their magic castle with the stories of Merlin and The Knights of The Round Table. Dean might not have been the geek his brother was, but as a twelve year old kid he'd read everything he could get his hands on hoping to make his way into that elusive inner circle that held not only untouchable heroes like Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot, but more concrete ones like his father, Mac and Bobby. Dean returned his focus to Walsh. "The reason Mordred's not mentioned is that he was killed after betraying Arthur."

"That's only one version of the story," Reagan declared, the first hint of anger coloring his words.

"And I suppose you expect us to believe there is another version," Joshua suggested. "One that somehow makes this extremely ridiculous and flagrantly dangerous conversation you are insisting on having with The Guardian of The Brotherhood prudent on your part."

"I'm not here as your enemy." Reagan ignored Joshua in lieu of keeping his gaze locked on Dean. "After meeting you today, I thought you were the kind of man that would want to know the truth."

Dean wasn't interested in anything else Reagan Walsh had to say. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of the man and get back to the real case at hand. "Actually I think it's time you be going on your merry-fucking-way before I lose my patience with you, Walsh. Rescue or not, I'm tired of your games. I have a job to do and I don't have time to play around with a bunch of groupies baiting for my attention."

"You are just as arrogant as Merlin." Walsh shook his head. "He didn't even suspect Mordred, like Arthur, was capable of making very powerful friends, that he might have a protector. A protector that didn't fear the great wizard Merlin."

"You're talking about Morgan Le Fay?" Sam spoke up, obviously more willing than Dean to hear Walsh out. Considering Dean couldn't afford to take his attention away from the mounting threat beside him, he settled for a silent curse he hoped like hell his brother picked up on.

"Your quick, Sam even though yourpsychic ability is a little lame and unpredictable for a Scholar." Reagan leaned his elbows on the table. He pulled Caleb's empty glass and the water pitcher towards him, obviously taking Sam's question as a stay on Dean's 'get the hell out of my face' order. "What if I told you Morgan le Fay not only restored Mordred, but taught him her magic, a gift that made him every bit as powerful as Merlin, the old man's equal."

"I'd say you're off your fucking rocker." Dean growled, feeling Sam and Joshua's intense gazes on him, waiting for a cue. The sense that something very bad was on the verge of happening had him looking towards the bathroom again, willing Caleb to come back to their table, whether to stop it or merely help pick up the pieces in the aftermath Dean wasn't sure.

"Then you're really going to find the next part of my tale very hard to swallow." Reagan kept one hand wrapped around Caleb's glass as he slowly tipped the pitcher to fill it.

Dean was prepared to shut Walsh's mouth for him before he could spout one more word of insanity, but the SEAL's sudden bumble distracted him. Reagan dropped the pitcher he was pouring, knocking the filled glass over as well as he stood. Water splashed across the table and plates in a small wave, splattering the occupants seated around it. Sam and Joshua reacted instantly, scooting away from the table even as their hands reached for the napkins in front of Dean to stop the flow from reaching the floor. Dean understood a second too late what was going to happen, his own hands automatically going to the table too, not to clean up but to keep Sam from touching the water pooled there.

"Sammy, don't." The words were barely out of his mouth when the water glimmered, tensed. Dean could feel the molecules aligning shifting form from liquid to quick silver as physically as he felt the cohesion that had taken place the moment his fingers touched the cool substance. His body thrummed with the familiar energy, every nerve-ending in his body singing with the process that was happening-a transformation he was not initiating.

"You see, Morgan didn't just hand Mordred his life back to him and dole out some of her powers out of the kindness of her heart. She hated Arthur and Merlin and wanted nothing more than to see the old wizard taken down a notch, all his noble works foiled."Reagan continued to talk though his words were diluted by what was taking place. Even though it was instantaneous, Dean felt as though he were watching the alchemic process in a cheesy movie slow motion reel. What had once been harmless drinking water in a pitcher was now a menace snaking around his fingers, wrapping around and clamping tightly over his wrists to solidify into dark smoky silver effectively pinning him to the table.

He heard the startled gasps from Sam and Joshua, the struggle as they tried to wrap their minds around what was happening. Dean lifted his gaze to seek out Sam just as Reagan announced what Dean had subconsciously understood from the moment he had shook Reagan Walsh's hand. "With her help, Mordred formed his own Triad-a Triad that has existed in every generation since then."

"He's a Guardian," Dean said, watching a reflection of his own realization dawn in Sam's dark eyes.

"What?" Sam shook his head, attempting to pull his hands free. "That's not possible."

"Yet, the silver effectively making you my prisoner says differently."

"Dean Winchester is the one and onlyGuardian of The Brotherhood," Joshua growled, continuing to struggle though Dean knew all too well the effort was wasted.

"I don't refute that fact. I want nothing to do with The Brotherhood." Reagan leaned against Caleb's chair once more, looking to Dean. "I prefer my own brothers, The Order. It's why Owen took offense at your offer of a ring. I have the same ability as you to create my own, to bestow them on others as I and The Lady see fit."

"The Lady?" Dean felt the blow as sure as Reagan had struck him. It was one thing to wrap his mind around the fact there was another guardian, but to consider that The Lady of the Lake was aware of Reagan's existence, had visited him in the ways she had Dean was quite another. "You're lying."

"Am I? How else could I do this?" Reagan gestured to the table now marred by the tarnished silver snarled around their hands.

"It's the Guardian's gift from Merlin," Sam spoke up. "The silver contains his blood."

"And our silver the life force of Mordred," Reagan explained. "But even the magic of Merlin had its limits. Incredible alchemist or not, he didn't rule over the elements. He needed help, which he got from The Lady of the Lake, Viviane."

"But why would she help Morgan le Fay?" Dean couldn't wrap his mind around the betrayal. The Lady of the Lake was still an enigma, had always offered more questions than answers in her visits to Dean, whether in his dreams or at the pond. Her motives might not have been clear, but she had always seemed on his side, especially since the coronation of his Triad. He'd kept her secret, just as he vowed, even from his brothers. The fact that she had shared the same with someone else, with a dick like Walsh, tore at him and in his mind made his promise to her null and void. He was beginning to believe the stories in which Merlin was enchanted and betrayed by the witch.

"Why would she eventually seal Merlin's doom? Maybe our Lady understood what most mortals are unable to grasp-things are not black and white. The dark and the light **need** each other. There has to be balance in the universe, Dean. That means the guys who _think _they're wearing the white hats can't go unchecked. If one becomes too powerful the whole universe might spin out of control."

"So you're Dean's darkside, his bizarro?" Sam's comment sounded like something Damien would say; proof his brother had spent too much time with his best friend, and also a painful reminder of who was missing the show. "You have the same gift Merlin gave him, yet you possess the opposite intrinsic qualities that make him the man he is?" The Scholar continued in more Sam-like form, but Dean's head was buzzing with a much more important question.

"Where's Caleb?" Dean demanded. His heart picked up a notch, a coldness settling in his gut as Walsh smiled. Another glance towards the bathroom revealed no one. Their waitress and the cook had to have been compromised. The two old men in the back were either deaf, completely entranced with their chest game or paid off by Walsh in advance. "What did you do?"

"I made sure he'd need the services of the bathroom." Reagan touched a finger to Caleb's discarded coffee cup. "He's with my Knight and Scholar."

"That bastard Owen is your Knight." Dean found himself tugging at his restraints, attempting to stand despite the fact his hands were bound to the table. The Guardian's gift were the rings, the role of leader, but his elusive qualities of sacrifice and heart were hard to quantify and pin down, therefore hard to conceptualize the results when twisted. Maybe Walsh was a selfish sociopath without a care for anyone but himself, but The Knight brought more tangible traits to the Round Table. Honor, a duty to protect those around him, and an inherent goodness that Caleb would heatedly deny existed in him, but that did tenfold. If all the fucked up shit Walsh was feeding them was true it meant that what Dean had sensed about Owen was on the money. He was a psychopath that thrived on destruction, a monster without one ounce of conscience or remorse, and now Walsh was telling him that the evil sonofabitch was armed with the gifts of strength, a 'never say die' fortitude, and that he had his hands on Dean's best friend.

"Don't worry; Owen is under my orders not to harm your Knight as long as you cooperate."

"Forgive me if I don't look relieved considering the scenario you're describing is similar to you throwing my Knight in a tank with some chum and a starving shark and telling said shark to stand the fuck down."

"Knights take orders from The Guardian, Dean. That's what they do, it's ingrained." Reagan smiled. "Besides, Owen is my best friend. You know how that is."

Dean snorted, knowing just how well Caleb being his best friend affected _his _ability to perceive an order, Knight or not. "Again, your words bring little comfort, ass hole. If Owen even thinks about…"

"What did you mean by cooperate?" Sam interrupted Dean's threat. "What do you want from us in exchange for Caleb?"

"I want what you want, to see The Holy Lance in rightful hands."

Joshua had given up trying to escape, though he was still perched on the edge of his seat. "You'd have us believe that your Triad's mission is an honorable one when you've already explained that you were created for the express purpose of unjustness-to thwart Merlin's goal to help the helpless?"

"We prefer The Trinity actually, and I consider our mission quite praiseworthy if you consider the five million dollars we've been promised to retrieve The Lance."

"That's what you do?" Sam spoke up. "You hunt in the supernatural world, but it's not to help anyone or protect people. You hunt for things of value, like scavengers. That's why you had Pan's flute."

"I don't give a shit what the bastards do as long as I get my Knight back in one piece, Reagan. Do you understand what I'm saying Walsh- one fucking piece."

"Bring me The Holy Lance and Caleb will be fine."

"Why not get it yourself?" Dean growled. "If you are what you say you are, and your sole mission is collecting artifacts, this gig should be a piece of cake."

"We prefer not to entangle ourselves with certain parties that have become interested in its whereabouts."

"Meaning you wish not to call attention to yourselves, especially from the angels," Joshua surmised.

"Their appearance was unexpected and ours is truly a secret society," Reagan explained. "We prefer to keep it that way."

"But five million dollars is worth the risk of crawling out from under your rock, putting your Order in Heaven's crosshairs?" Dean once again felt blindsided by the impossible. If this Order had indeed co-existed with The Brotherhood for centuries, complete discretion would have to have been their top priority.

Reagan looked down at his ring, ran his finger over the dark band before returning his gaze to Dean. "There was the fact my Scholar had a vision of you, the great Dean Winchester. I couldn't resist. After all it was unavoidable we meet at some point, fate. Why not an advantageous, planned encounter where I have the upper hand, instead of a clandestine one?"

"What do you mean it was fate?" Sam asked.

"He means every man eventually has to face his dark side." Dean recalled the references in the past Guardian's journals that he had taken the time to read, the ones he had mistaken for metaphor. They all talked of a great task-of facing the 'worst of themselves' in some form or another, even Pastor Jim. He wrongly inclined it to his battle to forget what had happened to him in Hell, to overcome the deep scars his time there had left. Now he was prone to believe differently.

"Or the possibility of a road not taken." Reagan nodded, confirming Dean's speculation. "My predecessor warned me about you, but so far I think his great concern was ill-advised."

Dean's anger flared and he jerked against his restraints, the table sliding closer to him, dragging Sam and Joshua with it. "That's because you haven't seen what I'm capable of."

"And you've only witnessed the tip of the iceberg of my talent." Reagan gestured to the silver encased table. "It's obvious I've had more practice, am better prepared. I'd say this is definitely win number two in my favor, Winchester."

"We'll see who comes out ahead in the end, Walsh."

"I look forward to it." Reagan grinned, touching a hand to his ear. "That's my cue to leave. It seems Owen and Jonah secured special delivery of our takeout order in the back. We're big tippers, don't you know."

"We want check-ins with Caleb," Sam said. "Every two hours."

Walsh shook his head. "You have your rings, you'll know how he's fairing."

"How do we find you when we have The Lance?" Joshua asked. "I gather you're not leaving us your business card?"

"We'll find you after the job is finished and your angel buddies have dispersed."

"The job will be a whole hell of a lot easier without us dragging a table with us." Dean glanced down at his hands and back to Walsh. "Are you going to leave us like this?"

"You're a Guardian; I expect you'll figure it out eventually."

"Damn it." Dean stumbled after Walsh, dragging the table, Sam and Joshua towards the exit with him.

"Dean, calm down."

"Don't 'calm down' me, Sam." Dean made it to the door, straining his neck to catch a glance of the tail-end of Walsh's van as it peeled out of the alley. His breath caught, the prospect of failing Caleb felt like a lead ball settling in his gut. He lifted his arms and the table with them, slamming it back down with a huff. "Fucking, sonofabtich."

"This table is ill designed to fit through that door," Joshua pointed out. "And I hate to be the one to point this out, but severing our wrists from our arms or dislocating our shoulders will not help Caleb at this point."

"He's right, Dean." Sam sighed, and Dean felt an echo from his brother of the same panic he was experiencing. "We just all need to take a minute and focus."

"You haven't met Owen, Sam. We don't have a fucking minute to spare."

"All the more reason for you to get us free from this insane trap."

"Sorry, Josh, but my shop teacher glazed over the chapters on wielding a blow torch with my feet."

"He's talking about using your abilities, Dean."

"I know that, Mr. Obvious." Dean growled at his brother. "The only problem is there is about as much a chance of that happening as there is of Joshua having a magic wand stuffed in his fancy loafers."

"We've seen you work with something larger than this before at the cave in Wyoming."

Dean took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He'd been practicing, but it was obvious that Walsh knew something he didn't. "Don't you think I thought of that, Sammy? I've been trying the whole damn time that Walsh was holding court. If I could have gotten my hands on that sonofabitch, and kept him from taking Caleb, I would have."

"Perhaps you were not focusing properly, calm and clarity has never exactly been your forte, especially when your family is threatened."

"Perhaps you can advise on the appropriate technique, Josh? Oh wait, you have no fucking clue as to how I create the silver. I'm starting to see Walsh's point about the need of your position in a Triad."

"In light of the fact Caleb's life is in danger, and that such circumstance instantly detracts from what little social skills you've managed to retain from your barbaric upbringing, I will pretend you didn't mean that."

"Guys!" Sam snapped. "Now is not the time to start fighting with each other. We need to hold it together if we're going to get The Lance and find Caleb."

"Screw The Holy Lance." Dean had no intention of looking for it until Caleb was back with them. "SEAL or no SEAL, I'm finding Walsh and showing him exactly what happens when you take on The Brotherhood."

"That requires getting free first."

Dean looked at Joshua. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Walsh had to use a similar method that you wield when changing the water."

"It's not the same silver." Dean nodded his head to the table. "It not only looks different, but it feels different. There isn't the same energy I get from ours."

"If you and Reagan are opposites, then in theory the ores would be mirror versions also."

"So, if Dean could somehow flip his spell then it might change the base of Walsh's work."

"I don't cast spells, Sam."

"It's still an alchemic process," Joshua asserted.

"And don't tell me you don't have some kind of weird word or limerick you use when changing the water into silver-your own little abracadabra," Sam quirked a brow at his brother. "I know you too well."

"Fine." Dean huffed. He might have had a little ditty he silently spouted, but he sure as hell wasn't going to share it with Joshua and Sam. The first time he'd attempted to use the Guardian mojo had been while standing in the middle of a rushing stream, surrounded by both his enemy at the time, and his soon to be Triad. He was convinced nothing would happen, unable to grasp the idea that he contained within him some kind of mystical special ability. The overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and self doubt had brought unbidden memories of those first months caring for his baby brother after their mother was murdered. Dean was terrified of doing something wrong, of failing his family. Sam would cry for what seemed like hours, nothing Dean could do able to comfort him. Then he'd found the old tapes of his father. At five, he'd never heard of Motor Head, but he recognized one word, the nickname his father gave him in a track that would later be very ironic, _Ace of Spades_. He was surprised the guitar and drum solos appeased Sammy, but it was the words that stuck with Dean, and the chorus that echoed in his thoughts as he performed his first feat of alchemy. He held Joshua's gaze. "You really think me rolling the track in reverse is going to reveal some kind of evil spell that will undo Walsh's handiwork."

"Sometimes the best magic is the simplest." Joshua encouraged. "It won't hurt to try."

Dean took another deep breath and closed his eyes. He let the words roll through his mind, then made a concentrated effort to silently repeat his favorite bridge in reverse. It only took repeating the chorus for Dean to feel the sudden rush of power starting in his trapped hands, rippling through the rest of his body like a small quake. The silver reverted to water, washing over the table and dripping onto the floor.

"You did it," Sam shook his hands of the water, looking at Dean with the same awe he'd offered that day in the cave.

"And without fainting this time," Joshua added.

Dean started for the bathroom, but not before letting his middle finger speak to The Advisor's unnecessary reminder that using his ability used to drain him, leaving him feeling boneless and foggy as if he'd run a marathon out of shape. The reaction had changed after he officially became The Guardian. Manipulating the silver now brought a surge of adrenaline, a high not unlike a good buzz. It made Dean wary of using the power, except for creating rings, knowing too well that there were always repercussions to supernatural gifts. Dean suspected abusing the silver would bring about things much worse than a hangover. Reagan Walsh obviously held no such restraint.

He burst into the small room, a sense of disappointment and the slumped body of their waitress waiting for him. Despite knowing Caleb was gone, he'd expected his friend to be there, a childish hope the scene with Reagan was a mistake. Dean supposed finding the girl unconscious; yet still breathing a plus, though picking up Caleb's discarded gun stole any comfort.

"Is she alive?" Sam asked from the doorway, letting out a breath when Dean nodded. He stepped into the room, moving to Dean's side. "Joshua went to check on the kitchen."

"My guess is the cook's probably the same." Dean stood, checking the safety on Caleb's gun before slipping it into the back of his jeans. "They used the window, more than likely threatened the girl to get Damien to cooperate."

"That's why we didn't know he was in danger." Sam ran both hands through his hair in frustration. "He went with them willingly."

"Fucking rings." Dean rubbed a thumb over his silver band. "Fucking Merlin."

"We'll find him, Dean." Sam promised, "He'll be fine."

Dean appreciated what his brother was trying to do, but was tired of the broken record. How many times did they have to face the loss of each other, or another person they loved? Being The Triad wasn't supposed to ensure their safety necessarily, but it sure as hell wasn't supposed to bring a whole new bag of trouble.

"The Trinity?" Dean growled. "Really?"

"We'll figure it out. Just like we always do."

Dean wanted desperately to believe his brother, but recognized the hint of fear and doubt in Sam's gaze, despite the brave front his brother was trying so hard to project. The need to soothe Sam was stronger than any pain of his own. He gave a sharp nod. "Those sonsofbitches won't know what hit them. When we find them I'm going to make damn sure I finish what Merlin started."


	7. Chapter 7

Spear of Destiny

By: RidleyBeta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed and commented. We only have a couple more chapters to go, then Tidia has a story coming up that I think you'll really enjoy! Thanks so much to Tidia who was kind enough to take time from her very busy spring schedule and make this a better chapter.

_"If you do not create your destiny, you will have your fate inflicted upon you."_

_-William Thompson_

Caleb was gaining a new appreciation for the United States military. It seemed all those movies Dean loved about black ops and their impressive skill set for torture was pretty much spot on. John Winchester had firsthand knowledge of similar techniques from his time in the Marines,making sure to impart some of that wisdom on countering such tactics to his protégé over the years. Caleb glanced to the corner of the room where the apparition of his mentor had been standing perfectly still for the last hour or so, bearing witness to Owen's demonstration of his adeptness. He knew the man wasn't real, not even a ghost, more like some kind of trick of the eye, but he could practically hear John's voice, 'Physical pain can be your friend, kiddo.'

Caleb never called any suffering friend, but he quickly learned it could be compartmentalized, managed and shut away, even turned around and used for incentive if a man understood how to harness it. Mac would have never agreed with some of the previous Knight's training methods, but Caleb had found himself in a few predicaments that had left him appreciative of John's lessons. He'd only broken once, and that was when Griffin Porter was smart enough to find his Achilles' heel. Owen didn't hold such leverage, but he also wasn't asking Caleb any damn questions. Owen was merely having fun. Caleb was pretty sure the military had never meant for their training to be used as sport.

"Reagan is not going to be happy when he gets back." Jonah's voice was barely audible over the ringing in Caleb's ears. He turned his head toward the other psychic, not able to get a good look at him because of the blood and sweat stinging his eyes, and the fact Jonah had placed himself at a table as far away from the action as he could manage without being in another room.

"Maybe you should intercede on his behalf," Caleb's croaked suggestion brought a laugh from Owen, who had momentarily abandoned his game in lieu of a beer break. "Walsh did leave you in charge."

"The Knight is second in command." Owen kept his beer, but made his way in front of Caleb. He struck out with his free hand, pulling the punch at the last second with a mean laugh. Caleb couldn't stop the involuntary flinch, but recovered with a smirk for Owen's benefit.

"I'm not sure that's the case when said Knight is a fucking lunatic." This time Owen didn't hold back, and Caleb found himself hoping Walsh made his errand quick. Crazy or not, the SEAL could throw a hell of a punch, adding just enough force to cause damage, but not enough to bring about the release of unconsciousness. As it was he was pretty certain he had a concussion and some cracked ribs as proof of the man's dedication to his skill. He fought to keep himself from looking in 'Not Really Johnny's' direction. A crazy desire for his mentor to intercede bubbled inside. Not only was Caleb tired of being hit; he was sick of Owen's crazy ramblings about Mordred, and how King Arthur was a prick. Hearing Jonah throw out the insane mirror Triad theory on the ride from The Silver Chariot was painful enough without having his off his rocker teammate twist the details like a knife in Caleb's gut.

"That's enough, Owen." Jonah stood and made his way towards them. "You understand you can't kill him."

"So Reagan said." Owen took a long drink of his beer, giving Caleb another perverse grin. "Another part of the Merlin versus Mordred story, Reaves, but since you don't really buy into any of the bullshit…"

The threat was unsaid, although Owen's intention was quite clear. Caleb cleared his throat. "Forgive me for not feeding into your psychosis, asshole."

Owen lifted a meaty fist, but Jonah caught his arm in time. "Bullshit part of the story or not, _this_ wasn't part of the plan."

"Plan's change."

"Like in Guatemala?" Jonah gestured to Caleb. "Is he worth a repeat?"

Caleb didn't know what happened in Guatemala, but it brought a deep growl from Owen, and a surge of anger and anguish that Caleb could sense even though Jonah had promised him the house was a psychic dead zone. Owen threw the remainder of his beer against the wall. The bottle exploded inches from Caleb's head, glass and beer showering The Knight.

"Get some air." Jonah's voice remained calm. He surprised Caleb by reaching out and squeezing Owen's shoulder. Caleb had a sudden image of a naïve zoo keeper, one stupid enough to pet his favorite tiger. He half expected Jonah to withdraw a bloody nub. To his disappointment Owen deflated at the contact, actually leaned into it. "Go. I'll clean this up."

Owen didn't give him another look, turning and making his way out of the living room like a bored domestic cat, instead of riled jungle beast. Jonah waited until they heard the slamming of the front door before turning to meet his gaze.

"I see you have a real death wish, Reaves."

"I see psychic divining for treasure isn't your only ability."

"Calming wild animals has more to do with being a Scholar than being a telepath." Jonah folded his arms over his chest studying Caleb, like so many frustrated headmasters had during Caleb's prep school years. "I would be glad to explain in greater detail so you could share the information with your own Scholar, but I'd be wasting my breath considering you seem bent on not returning to your Triad, at least not in any state outside that of a vegetable."

"This is _my_ fault? Somehow I don't think keeping my mouth shut would have made this scene go down much differently." Caleb tried to move his hands, hoping to bring some of the circulation he'd lost from being tied to the dining room chair. His wrists hurt; the pain overshadowed by all the other parts of his torso screaming for attention. He couldn't help but glance to the corner where John had been standing sentry. The illusion was gone. It sent a ripple of helplessness to join all the other sensations battling for control. "Reagan sort of set the stage when he let his pet goon take my shirt, my boots and strap me to this fucking piece of furniture like a Guantanamo detainee. What's next, water boarding?"

"Reagan sometimes gives Owen a little too much leash." Jonah knelt on the floor to pick up the larger shards of amber glass from the drop cloth Owen had taken the care to lay across the plush carpet upon their arrival to the upscale house they were squatting. The methodical calculating move had gotten Caleb's heart jumping. It was far too similar to the ones in gangster movies when a living, breathing problem was about to be fitted for some cement shoes. He took as deep of breath as his bruised ribs would allow, pushing the thoughts of his demise from his thoughts. Dean and Sam would find him in time-the faith in his Triad unshakeable.

"So it's your job to keep him from hanging himself."

"Something like that." Jonah moved to the open kitchen which was separated from the spacious living room by a granite island. "As I said, a Scholar's role has a lot of facets."

"Please spare me the delusions of your grandeur." Caleb didn't have to fake the groan of pain, but was glad he could at least pass it off as disbelief instead of physical weakness. "Haven't I suffered enough at the hands of your buddy?"

Jonah returned with a glass of water and a towel. "Owen is merely overcompensating."

"Overcompensating?" Caleb would have laughed if he hadn't known just how much the act would have hurt. "And I thought Sawyer could put a spin on some fucked up shit."

"You're not exactly an easy act to follow." Jonah held the water up to Caleb, and despite his pride and suspicions Caleb didn't refuse the act of mercy, which just as easily could have been more treachery. Poison or not, the cool liquid was like heaven on his dry, burning throat. Between the side effects of whatever drug they had used on him earlier and the session with Owen, he was dehydrated and understood he needed the water more than he needed to appear invincible. Still, he was glad Johnny had dematerialized, unable to bear any look of disappointment his mind might have conjured from his mentor. He took two quick gulps before Jonah took the glass away. Caleb glanced up at him, clearing his throat.

"Owen is beating the shit out of me because he's jealous?"

"The psyche is a strange creature. As psychics we understand that better than most, and I'm sure your father, the notable Mackland Ames, could explain it much better than I." Jonah moved a coaster from a pile on the cherry coffee table, placed the glass on it before bending to begin the task of cleaning up the spilled beer. "Look at it from Owen's point of view. It's obvious I'm a far superior telepath than Sam Winchester. I'm also smarter, more versed in using the gifts I was granted as The Scholar. I also graduated Cum Laude from Brown. I finished my MBA at Harvard."

"A few framed diplomas and a way with animals doesn't make you half the man Sam Winchester is."

Jonah wasn't dissuaded from his explanation. He prattled on as he picked up glass shards. "Reagan's skills as Guardian are also further advanced than Dean's. He's an expert marksman, trained warrior and a highly decorated commander. Even Dean's short dispatch to Hell doesn't give him any real advantage over Reagan that I can calculate; in fact it's probably a deficit considering he was obviously unable to bring away anything valuable from the experience, minus a fledgling alliance with one lowly angel. At most it gives him a little character, but Reagan did three tours in Afghanistan, so they're pretty much even."

"You don't know anything about Dean." Caleb growled, no longer caring for an explanation of the pompous ass's earlier observation. "Your buddy Walsh isn't even in the same league. He can perform water illusions and parlor tricks all he wants, I'll never buy him as a Guardian."

"But you, you are something that Owen, despite his determination, cannot quite top," Jonah stood, making his way to the kitchen to dump the pieces of broken bottle. "You're part demon. Compared to you Owen will always be merely human, pure vanilla, if you know what I mean."

"Vanilla? Oh, I'd say your buddy Owen has a couple dozen unsavory flavors and is up to his eyeballs in every variety of nuts." Caleb waited until Jonah was once again in front of him, jerking on his restraints as proof of Owen's instability. "Never underestimate a good old psychotic disorder when it comes to bringing the evil."

Jonah picked up the towel from the floor and carefully folded it. "It's not that Owen can't bring the bad. Just the opposite. Despite not having your faults, he can't measure up. He hates that you'll always be at the table with Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad while he can't even manage to get one foot in the castle. It was a fact I don't think Morgan or Mordred considered. Is a man lacking virtue, a black knight per say, truly a knight?"

"Owen hates me because I'm a good guy?" Caleb did laugh, excruciating as it was. Maybe these idiots did live in some bizarro universe, because most of the people in Caleb's world despised and feared him for their belief in his inability to ever succeed in being a true Knight, hell, even a decent human being. "That just proves that your buddy is, in your lingo, FUBAR."

"I never claimed Owen was rational, in fact I'm quite sure the reasons for his intense dislike of you are subconscious. He sees you as something he'll never be- painting him a failure, and therefore perceives you as a threat. As long as you're alive, he'll always be second-rate. Like the evil queen and the fair Snow White."

Caleb snorted. "I'll know not to take any apples or coffee from strangers anytime soon."

"Let's hope Reagan gets back soon." Jonah glanced to the large grandfather clock by the door. "Owen never fails at eliminating a threat, and my hold over him is minimal at best."

Caleb licked his lips, the copper taste of blood causing his stomach to roil. He took a shallow breath, wincing when abused muscles made themselves known. It would be par for the day for him to have some internal bleeding going on. "What happened in Guatemala?"

Jonah took a seat on the edge of the sofa, regarding him for a silent moment before answering. "Reagan and Owen had a disagreement during a very important mission."

Caleb couldn't get a clear reading on the other psychic, a quandary he was certain had nothing to do with his lack of abilities at the moment. Jonah seemed accommodating, even amiable, but Caleb had been around enough slick businessmen to recognize a good con-artist when he saw one. "Dean and I have our moments."

Jonah's smile held no hint of mirth. "And has Dean ever slit your throat?"

Caleb didn't have a chance to process the revelation, nor offer a comeback as the slamming of the front door had his self-preservation kicking in. He tensed, tugging at the ropes holding him in place in a fiercely pitiful attempt to escape before a calm, collected and rested Owen could return to resume working out his half-baked insecurities. He wasn't as relieved as he would have been only moments before when it was Reagan Walsh who entered from the hallway.

"What's going on?" He dropped a pizza and a six pack on the table, sending a frown in Jonah's direction.

"Reaves and I were just comparing Triads." Jonah's grin flashed genuine. "So far he still believes his superior in several ways. It seems you don't measure up in The Guardian department."

"Ah, well, the beast you know." Reagan came closer, shaking his head slightly. "I see Owen has been trying to convince him otherwise."

"What makes you say that?" Jonah made an elaborate show of tossing the soiled towel on the floor, popping his knuckles. "Maybe I decided to step up my negotiation tactics, exploring other ways to bring a man around to seeing my side of things."

"I doubt your new skills will serve you well in the boardroom, old pal." Walsh looked at Caleb. "You must really be an infuriating bastard for Jonah to risk getting his hands dirty."

"What can I say? It's a talent." Caleb thought it wise to play along with their game. Reagan knew exactly who was behind his current state, but doubted his pointing a finger at Owen would bring about the other man's untimely demise.

"How'd the meeting go?" Jonah spoke up in a blatant move to change the subject.

Reagan shrugged, keeping his eyes on Caleb. "Our buyer wasn't exactly happy about the delay, more than ready to get back to his lovely little third world compound I'd say, but he was willing to add another buck fifty for incentive."

"Ambitious dictators and their abundance of drug money," Jonah clucked. "Imagine how successful the cocaine trade would be if they weren't so clouded by power struggles and territorial disputes."

Caleb looked between the men, suddenly quite certain of John's belief that supernatural entities were far easier to deal with than the faults of mortals. "You're going to turn over The Holy Lance to some slimy arms dealer?"

"Did I say he was an arms dealer?" Reagan glanced at Jonah. "For all I know he could be a very passionate collector of antiquities from The Holy Land."

"In other words you don't give a damn as long as the color of his money is green."

"We actually prefer gold," Jonah replied. "Although, diamonds are nice too."

"Whatever his motivations, I've made a deal with the man." Reagan returned his gaze to Caleb. "A deal I intend to keep."

"Dean is not going to let you turn over a weapon like The Holy Lance to some would-be terrorist."

"Now he's a terrorist?" Reagan laughed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Damn you go straight to the worst case scenario, Reaves."

"I've learned to keep my expectations of humankind very low." He glanced down at his bruised and bloodied torso. "That way I'm not surprised or disappointed."

"And you've found the angels to be our superior?" Jonah tilted his head, sharing a quick look with Reagan. "Because from what we've heard, they have unsavory agendas as well, complete with power struggles and territorial disputes of their own."

"Come now, Jonah, I'm sure Dean's guardian angel wants The Holy Lance for purely unselfish reasons, perhaps sentimental ones."

"Dean is trying to do the right thing," Caleb growled.

"In the beginning, perhaps," Reagan touched the silver band on his finger. "But now he's trying to do what's best for him and for his own, and that puts us on the exact same playing field. Whether you want to see it or not, we're not so different, he and I."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I know your Guardian better than you. I have no doubt Dean will keep his part of the bargain we've made, even though I've already lost footing on my end." Reagan reached out and roughly grasped Caleb's chin, tilting his head so he could get a better look at Owen's handiwork. "I promised him that I'd keep you in one piece and he's going to be pissed that's not been the case, although I imagine he's more desperate than ever to find the Lance."

Caleb pulled away, thoughts of Dean and Sam sensing, if not knowing exactly what had been happening to him the last few hours provoking a reckless anger. "That's because we have a more traditional relationship, you know the kind where The Guardian tries very hard not to spill his Knight's blood instead of severing his carotid artery."

The look Reagan sent Jonah had the psychic standing, and Caleb hoped the bastard got a scar of his own for his lack of discretion. It would serve him right for turning up that awful opera music when the sounds of Owen's good time got too distasteful for him. "I'll go tell Owen dinner's served."

"It seems my Scholar hasn't painted us in the best light." Walsh rested his hands on his hips.

"You mean your mediocre psychic with the MBA?" Caleb wasn't about to capitulate to the impossible. "He's no fucking Scholar. Any run of the mill egomaniac can make a claim to greatness."

"Search your feelings, Luke." Reagan knelt, pulling a KA-BAR from his boot. Caleb tensed when Walsh moved behind him with the military regulation blade. He expected to feel cold steel against his windpipe, so the bite of tension on his wrists didn't quite register until his hands were suddenly free. "You may not want to know the truth, but it's there inside you. Yours is not the only Triad."

"You think bad Star Wars' references are going to bring me on board?"

"How about a slice of pizza and a beer?"

"Try again, Captain Lone Starr." Caleb couldn't hold back the gasp of pain as his shoulders rotated into a more natural position. His wrists were bloodied from the ropes Owen had used, but the relief of being able to bring his arms around his midsection, lean forward to take some of the pressure off his ribs was almost euphoric.

"Ah, the ultimate parody." Reagan laughed, tossing Caleb's shirt at him. "At least you didn't go with Princess Vespa."

"Give me time." Caleb carefully took the shirt. "Star Wars is so out of your league, but Space Balls is definitely fitting."

"We're not complete opposites you know, more gray than black and white." The fact Reagan kept the blade in his hand didn't escape Caleb, though he was certain the man wouldn't have much trouble taking him in hand to hand considering Caleb doubted he could get out of the chair without ending up on his face. He kicked Caleb's boots towards him, staying out of arms reach. "The Trinity is very similar to your Triad."

"Except you have no problem turning on each other if provoked."

"Owen, Jonah and I are tight. We grew up together, much like you, Dean and Sam-trained together. Joining the Navy made us stronger, closer. We're family in every sense of the word. I did what I did in Guatemala to save Owen's life."

"I'm not so sure he remembers it that way." Caleb was proud when he managed to get his arms in his shirt without passing out. He looked down at his boots. Feeling vulnerable in his current bare footedness warred with the pain-filled prospect of bending over. The shoes would have to wait until the room stopped spinning.

"Whether he understood that at the time or not, we've since gotten past it." Reagan ran a finger over the edge of the blade. "You're really going to tell me you've never done something that hurt Dean or Sam in the name of the almighty greater good you all seem so hell bent on upholding?"

Caleb looked from the knife to Reagan, cold certainty numbing his pain and allowing him to put strength in his voice he couldn't afford. "Let's get something straight, Walsh. Our Triad is nothing like your _team_. I'd fall on my own fucking sword before shedding one drop of their blood."

Reagan snorted, replacing the KA-BAR in his sheath only to claim the gun from his side holster. "You know, Reaves I'm really beginning to understand why Owen hates you so much. Nobody likes a goody two shoes."

"Right."Caleb clenched his fist when Reagan pointed the gun at his head, counting on the fact the bastard wouldn't have gone to the trouble to untie him if he was planning to finish what Owen started. "Just call me fucking Snow White."

"On your feet, Princess." Reagan waved the gun for Caleb to get up. "I'll escort you to your chambers before the evil queen returns."

"Let me guess, you picked the one foreclosed on house with a dungeon?" Caleb managed to grab his boots and push off from the chair without face-planting. He didn't quite attain a straight posture, but he gave himself silent kudos for not toppling over when Walsh prodded him with the 9mm.

"No, but it does have a decent sized closet that locks." Reagan gave him another shove towards the hallway. "A big brave Knight like yourself isn't afraid of small, dark places are you, Reaves?"

"That the best thing you could come up with out of my file?" Caleb glanced over his shoulder, forcing a grin. "So much for the military's strategy for emotional torture."

"I considered securing a straight jacket, a few anti-psychotic drugs, but didn't have a lot of time to gather props." They reached a door at the end of the hallway and Walsh took a skeleton key from his pocket, dangling it in front of Caleb. " I could always let Owen and Jonah re-enact your parent's death to keep you from getting bored while we wait."

Caleb kept his smile in place as he took the key and opened the door. "Only if Owen kills himself for real in the grand finale."

Reagan held out his hand for the key before taking a step back so Caleb could enter the pitch black space. "Enjoy your solitude."

Caleb stared into the closet, giving Walsh another grin that made his face hurt. "I should be so lucky." 'Not really Johnny' was back, waiting silently for Caleb to join him. As The Knight was roughly shoved inside, the lock clicking ominously behind him; the prospect of being confined in close quarters, alone with his thoughts and their bizarre projections of his long-dead mentor had another round with Owen seeming the lesser of two evils. He slid to the floor, pulling his legs to his chest despite the agony of ribs grinding against each other. Caleb lowered his pounding head to his knees, trying hard to breathe through the panic threatening to overcome him. "Come on, Deuce. Get me the hell out of here."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Dean?" Sam touched his brother's shoulder when he didn't respond to his name the second time. Even with the contact Dean was reluctant to pull his gaze from the window of their hotel room, though Sam doubted the darkened parking lot was holding the focus of his attention. "You alright?"

It was a stupid question, one to which Sam wished Dean had responded typically, with a roll of eyes or an annoyed 'are you kidding me, Sammy' glare. The flash of rare helplessness in his green eyes was magnified by his rough, tired voice.

"I thought I heard him-just now." Dean gestured to his head. "Did you?"

Sam found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat, feeling slightly guilty he was relieved to honestly answer no. He twisted the silver band on his hand, still not used to the weighty feel even after almost of a year of wearing it faithfully. The burden seemed far greater after the recent unpleasant connection with Caleb and whatever he was going through at the hands of The Trinity. "I haven't sensed him in the last half hour or so. I think that's probably a good sign, right?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean stepped away from the window, running his hand over his hair. He favored Sam with a scowl, before starting a small tight pace between their double beds. The more characteristic action had Sam releasing a held breath as his brother continued his rant. "Apparently Merlin left a lot out of the fucking instruction manual-a whole bunch of shit Jim or any other Guardian before him didn't see fit to cover in their journals."

"You mentioned Jim saying something about a test." Sam hadn't been particularly surprised by the revelation. The ins and outs of being The Guardian was one of the few things Dean didn't share with his brother, or Caleb. He'd asked Mac about it once, the former Scholar confessing he'd peppered Pastor Jim with questions in the beginning of his term, only to have his old friend placate him with parables and platitudes over iced tea and pie. Sam doubted his father, The Knight had taken time to contemplate the ins and outs of Jim's many facets or cared to know, but Mac had made sense when he'd told Sam that he'd finally come to understand that part of what made The Guardian, _The Guardian, _was the complex mystery that shrouded the position. "Can you tell me more about that?"

Dean snorted. "Don't you mean 'will I'?" His brother rubbed at his eyes. "Trust me, Sam if Pastor Jim, Julian or anyone else had given specifics on The Trinity, I'd be spilling my guts."

"But The Lady of the Lake…"

"Is a bitch." Dean growled and Sam was smart enough to drop it, despite his curiosity as to just what his brother knew firsthand concerning the legendary witch.

"Okay."

"Besides, this was different than the stuff with the rings." Dean sat down on one of the beds, holding his head in his hands. "I heard him-like when we were kids and one of us was in trouble."

Sam took a seat on the other, facing his brother. "I haven't been able to contact him telepathically. I've tried over and over again." Admittedly, Sam was not the most adept at using his ability, especially since he'd stopped practicing after his mistake with Ruby, but his link with Caleb had never required much effort, access to the other psychic was as natural as breathing.

He waited for Dean to look up at him. "I think they are using something powerful to block him. They obviously know what he's capable of."

"It's what Owen's capable of that worries me, Sam." Dean stood once more, resuming his pacing. "This had nothing to do with his abilities, damn it."

Sam held his tongue, remaining on the bed and bolstering his patience. Who was he to deny his brother any twinge of reassurance despite the logical little voice in his head protesting that between the two of them Sam should be the one open to any communication from Caleb.

Dean stopped and stared at him as if he had read his thoughts. "Damien and I have our own connection, you know, one that goes beyond being psychic."

Sam could not refute, despite the twinge of jealously that usually followed such a declaration on Caleb's part. After all, the rush of protectiveness he felt for his big brother in that moment was a silent testimony to his all too concrete understanding of the link Dean shared with Caleb. Sam would always believe Dean capable of doing the impossible. "I know, man. If Caleb could make anyone hear him, it would be you."

Dean sighed, his glassy gaze going from Sam to the connecting door between theirs and Joshua's room. "Josh got anything yet?"

Sam shook his head. "He's tried scrying for a lost brother, even used the spell Caleb used to pull us back from Hell."

"Did he use Damien's journal and the bracelet I gave him?"

Sam nodded. "Nothing's working."

Dean started to move around the bed but Sam reached out and caught his sleeve.

"Having The Guardian watching over his shoulder is not going to make his job any easier."

Dean pulled away, but didn't move closer to the door. "So my Advisor said repeatedly right before he slammed the fucking door in my face and locked it. I should have blown a hole in the mother."

Sam raised a sharp brow and Dean sighed. "The door, idiot, not Josh-at least not yet."

"He's worried about Caleb too, Dean." Sam forced a smile, hoping to find some comfort in his brother's sense of humor. "You understand how a guy can get when someone picks on his little brother."

Instead of eliciting mirth, Sam watched the green of Dean's eyes harden to stony jade. "Josh has no clue how to be Caleb's brother."

"He's doing the best he can with his limited experience in the position." Sam didn't point out the fact Dean was not above tormenting both Joshua and Caleb with their unwanted sibling status when it served his purpose. Obviously, the teasing might have also been a way for Dean to assure himself that neither Knight nor Advisor was happy with the arrangement. It seemed Sam wasn't the only one with some jealousy issues, but he bit back on his instinct to throw fire on gasoline.

"Are you talking about Triad magic or being a brother, Sam?"

"Both." Sam hated a lot of things about their lives growing up, but he'd learned never to take for granted the valuable lessons it had taught him-ones he didn't fully appreciate until it was almost too late. "Not everyone is as lucky as you, me and Caleb."

"Yeah, some luck we three have." Dean gave a final glance to the door before moving to the opposite side of the room which held a table and his lap top. "Did Josh at least get through to Missouri?"

"He was on the phone with her when I stepped out to take a call from Eli." Sam had been allowed to stay and assist Joshua in the spell work that showed no promise for a quick solution to their current situation.

"What's the professor know?"

"He's never heard of anything like The Trinity, but he's going to have a heart to heart with Griffin." Sam made his way to the table. "Did Ethan turn up anything on Reagan Walsh?"

Dean turned his computer so Sam could see the screen. "Just some juvenile records, grave desecration, vandalism; typical stuff you'd find with most hunters. His military records are high clearance, but E's going to try and pull in a favor from a Homeland Security contact."

"What about Carolyn and the Geek Squad?" Sam looked up from the screen to his brother. "You called her?"

"Yeah." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Carolyn got that high-pitched trill to her voice that I've come to realize means she's super excited and on to something way too geeky for me to comprehend. She didn't give me a chance to ask what it was before she blurted something about Riley's new graphic novel and talking to some dude named George."

"George is a girl, Dean." Sam never failed to be amazed by his brother's narrow focus when it came to The Brotherhood. The hunt always took precedence over the bigger picture. "She's a fact checker for The Geek Squad."

"We have fact checkers?"

"Several." Sam sighed, understanding Mackland's warning that details were never The Guardian's forte. "George is a grad student at NYU. Carolyn introduced her to me last summer before I moved to New York."

"George, huh?" The mention of a woman did what Sam's earlier attempt at humor had not. Dean's face twitched, a hint of mischievous grin tugging at his mouth. "Damien's never mentioned you hanging out with anyone named George."

"That's probably because I am smart enough to meet her in places Caleb is sure never to show up, like the NYU library and the Natural Museum of History."

"Is she hot?"

"She's 5'2, covered in tats, piercings, and has a love for all things anime." None of that was true, but Sam wasn't about to encourage his brother and Caleb's butting into his love life by sharing the fact, _Georgia_ was blonde, 'girl-next-door' pretty, and so reminiscent of Jess it hurt to look at her for very long, like staring directly into a solar flare. "Drop it."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Sammy." Dean's full on smile appeared, lifting some of the weariness from his five o'clock shadowed face. "I once had a life changing three night tryst with an Asian trapeze artist whose whole body was a work of inked art. She had bars and rings poked in places you cannot begin to imagine. The things she could do with that little spiky thing in her tongue…"

"Dean!" Sam snapped his fingers, derailing one of his brother sordid tales. "I think _Caleb_ would probably appreciate us concentrating on the problem at hand, instead of your desire to besmirch my honor."

"Besmirch? Forget I said anything." Dean shook his head. "You are far too lame for this chick, George-maybe any woman under seventy, and I'll have you know _Damien _appreciates that story every time I tell it."

Sam was saved from defending himself when Dean's cell started to ring, vibrating across the table beside the computer. His brother picked it up and grimaced.

"Why the hell is Bobby calling?"

"I didn't tip him off." Dean had been adamant about not checking in with the older hunter, knowing he'd tell them to call Mac, a conversation Dean and Sam agreed Caleb would not want to take place unless absolutely necessary.

"I'm afraid Missouri could be the likely culprit." Joshua appeared in the connecting doorway, looking as disheveled as Sam could recall.

Dean jabbed a finger at him. "Meaning you're the one to blame."

"_You_ told me to contact her." Joshua crossed the room. "In fact, you insisted."

"I didn't tell you to blab all the specifics. Did you tell her Caleb had been kidnapped?"

"How was I supposed to explain the need to call for a lost member of The Triad, oh great one in the skill of subterfuge? It's not exactly wise or easy to lie to a psychic."

"Especially one who wields a mighty spoon," Dean growled. "You spilled your guts on purpose, Missouri's Boy."

Sam pulled the phone away from Dean, stepping in between his brother and Joshua. He answered it with an overly chipper voice that had Joshua rolling his eyes and Dean groaning. "Hey, Bobby. How's it going?"

"_Don't hey how's it going Bobby me, Stretch. What the hell have you three idgits gone and done now?" _

"Here's Dean. He'll explain everything." Sam pushed the phone back to Dean who lifted his hands and attempted to dance out of range. Sam latched onto his brother's arm and hissed. "You're The Guardian."

Dean grabbed the phone, teeth bared. "A position which is proving to be nothing but a pain in my ass."

Joshua waited until Dean had moved across the room before turning to Sam. "Neither Bobby nor Missouri will be able to reach Mackland until tomorrow. When I spoke to Mother last night, she said their wine tour would be taking them into the Italian countryside today, and out of cell range. Perhaps we'll have better news by then."

Sam nodded, thankful for the fact Bobby nor Missouri would have a chance to hearken their former Scholar. "The last thing Dean needs is to feel like he's got an audience overseeing his every move."

Joshua snorted. "Of course no one wants to have his actions scrutinized, especially by parties extremely vested in the outcome of said ventures."

"He trusts you, Josh." Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "He's just worried about Caleb and thrown by this whole Trinity business."

"Rightfully so." Joshua ran a hand over his hair. "I found myself wishing Malachi was still around so that I could fleece him for any knowledge he might have had to impart in his devilish manner on the subject."

"Because Malachi was so trustworthy." Sam understood the temptation, wondering himself if Ruby would have had any such secrets she would have been stockpiling for the perfect time to use them to her advantage, like she had with the Triad trap she'd used against them. "We're better off sticking to our own resources."

"None of which seem to be very helpful currently." Joshua took a seat on the bed, looking towards Dean who was red-faced and highly animated in his discussion with Bobby. "Reagan Walsh seemed to be telling the truth when he said The Order had managed to keep a tight lid on their existence."

"Maybe not." Sam took a seat beside him, watching Dean also. His brother was saying something about involving others and them getting themselves blown to bits. He imagined the reference was to Ellen and Jo, two losses that had torn pieces out of Dean-pieces Sam wasn't sure he could ever reassemble in a way that would allow Dean to let himself off the hook. Sam cleared his throat, pushing thoughts of those they had lost out of his mind as he met Joshua's gaze. "Carolyn might know something."

"Of course." Joshua laughed, rubbing his eyes. "Because my lovely wife is quite full of earth-shattering surprises these days."

"She mentioned something about Riley and Georgia Slocomb."

"Not surprising." Joshua met his gaze with a tired but genuine smile. "The three have been assisting Bradley with his current thesis concerning Brotherhood genealogy."

"She mentioned Riley's Graphic Novel."

"I prefer to believe Carolyn's expert research skills are being put to more educational pursuits, ones such as Bradley's lofty goals to obtain a degree and not Riley's childish exploits to memorialize us all in the comic book genre."

"No matter the end goal, that's quite a think tank at our disposal." Sam sometimes wondered if his father had exposed him to the more academic side of The Brotherhood more often, let Mackland introduce him to the complex hierarchy of men and women that worked behind the scenes, if he would have felt differently about his destiny. Maybe he wouldn't have tried so hard to escape a future which he saw only stacked with violence, hopelessness and despair, a place his dreams and talents would be wasted.

"Carolyn will apply herself completely, I have no doubt." Joshua looked towards Dean once more. "Caleb is not the only one who has her unwavering loyalty."

"Dean didn't tell her about the kidnapping, only that we had encountered The Trinity."

"He's right about things staying on a need to know basis, but Missouri needed to know if she was going to be of any assistance. Unfortunately, I had already tried every spell she suggested. She also encountered the same telepathic black hole that you did. She believes a powerful spell is behind the interference, along the lines of a very complex totem called a Witch's Purse."

"I've seen one of those before." Sam took another glance at his brother as memories of the New Mexico hunt gone awry filled his thoughts. They'd almost lost Dean then, and all Sam could think about at the time was how the entire messed up job was destroying his chance to be free of their father. "Caleb and I destroyed one that was blacking out a whole protected area."

"The bad news is, without actually physically dissembling the purse and scattering its contents, there is no means to counter it. The good news is such spell work requires the talent of a powerful witch, several in fact."

Sam met Joshua's gaze. "Meaning we could possibly determine who's helping The Trinity?"

"Meaning it gives Missouri a strong lead that may or may not turn up anything helpful." Joshua touched his side, the place where Sam knew the mark of his coven lay. Their Advisor preferred not to mix Brotherhood business with his other allegiance, but Sam knew all too well how lines often blurred when it came to keeping separate lives. "Crafters are also extremely discreet."

"Too bad for me ours isn't so tight-lipped." Dean rejoined them, his voice more resolute than angry. "Bobby is heading this way."

"That's not exactly a bad thing, Dean." Sam knew his brother didn't want to involve the people they cared for in angel business, but now that The Trinity was a factor, they could use all the help they could get. "We may need back-up."

"Has Bobby heard of anything such as The Order?" Joshua asked.

"Par for the course tonight, no." Dean stuffed his phone in his jacked. "He did have a little piece of friendly advice for me and Sam, though. He said instead of sitting around with Josh's magic wand stuck up our asses, we should be out doing what we came here to do in the first place, what will bring Walsh to us-which is to find the fucking Lance."

"He could have a point." Sam shrugged when his brother favored him with a fierce glower. "I'm not saying we give it to The Trinity, only that it could also bring Castiel back into the picture and help us find Caleb."

"I take that except for the miraculous reappearance of the Impala restored to her pristine condition, your prayers are being ignored." Joshua nodded to the bedside. "Pastor Jim might have suggested you take to bend and knee?"

Dean's glare intensified as it moved to his Advisor. "If Cas could be here, he would."

"I just find it odd that he chooses now not to answer your heed. Perhaps, like Reagan Walsh he realizes the impact of a good dose of desperation."

"Are you suggesting Cas knows what's going on and is ignoring me so I have more incentive to track down The Lance?"

"He's not saying that, Dean." Sam favored Joshua with a look that he hoped expressed the fact that Sawyer's 'foot in mouth' disease, as Bobby often referred to it, was rearing its ugly head. "That would be extremely insensitive of him, and completely uncalled for."

"Right, because we all know Josh is Mr. Couth." Dean took a deep breath and blew it out. "Bobby's right. I've wasted time. I should have stayed focused on The Lance, and not some long shot to find where the bastards stashed Damien."

"Bobby means well, but he's not the one wearing a ring that allows him a ringside seat to what's going on with Caleb." Sam held his brother's gaze, sensing the shifting emotions beneath Dean's stalwart surface. He hated that Dean was so quick to doubt himself, hated it more that he knew he, like their father, had played a part in feeding those insecurities over the years when it suited him. "You made the right call, the same call Caleb would have made if the situation was reversed."

"Yeah, well, red dragons are notorious for letting their emotions get the best of them." Sam found it somewhat comforting that his brother referenced Pastor Jim's story, a favorite way the former Guardian had of explaining away Caleb's impulsivity when they were younger. Dean moved to his bed where his duffel lay open. He took his fake badge and slipped it on his jeans, tossing the other Caleb had worn that morning to Sam. "You're filling in for Hutchinson. We're going to check out Tennyson's night life."

"Did Bobby suggest calling in any further back up, Officer Starsky?" Sam noted that Joshua was smart enough to pose that question with a bed in between him and Dean.

"He might have, but I think it's a bad idea." Dean checked the gun at his side, adding Caleb's to the holster at his back. He picked up Pan's Flute and handed it to Sam. "I don't want more people than necessary finding out about The Order. The last thing I need is for my very new Triad to appear weak or vulnerable, touchable. If Sam and I don't check in within the next hour, call Ethan and Eli."

"What about Silas?" Sam asked, thinking of one of the few men from Jim Murphy's reign that Dean trusted.

Dean shrugged. "Silas is on a well-deserved vacation in the Italian countryside."

"You sent him to watch over Mother and Mackland?" Joshua took a step out from between the beds, meeting Dean as he moved towards the door.

"See if you can keep that little bit of information to yourself, Mama's Boy. I know it's hard for you, but I don't want to ruin my chances at getting some of Mac's famous souvenirs because he thinks I'm wasting man power."

"Thank you." Sam's mouth twitched as Dean rolled his eyes at Joshua's sincere look of gratitude. He knew his brother had made protection for those in their inner circle a priority, but wasn't quite aware of the steps he'd taken. Perhaps it was a byproduct of Dean's misplaced guilt and responsibility for those they had lost, but it also a showed how he was a different Guardian than Jim Murphy.

"You really want to thank me? Figure out something to help us get Damien back in case this hunt for the Holy Lance is a bust."

Joshua nodded. "I'll leave no stone unturned."

"Reinforce the wards." Dean pointed to the symbols preventing angels from entering without invitation. "Stay inside until we get back, or until backup arrives."

"I'm quite capable of handling myself." Joshua folded his arms over his chest.

"So are Mackland and your mom. Humor me." Dean started for the door. "Let's go, Hutch."

"Wait," Joshua followed after them. "Does that mean I have some sort of secret detail? Because I take issue with being shadowed without my prior knowledge and find it quite unsettling that you..."

Sam closed the door on Joshua's untypical use of foul language as Dean ignored his Advisor's inquiry, and headed for the Impala. "You do have someone assigned to him."

Dean opened the driver's door, smirking at Sam over the roof of the Chevy. "You think I'm going to leave my Geek-girl Friday vulnerable? The woman knows all my passwords, _and _she's my only good competition in Words with Friends. All those years of Mac making me read dictionaries and thesauruses in a hope to make me a better student has left me untouchable."

"Seriously?" Sam frowned, not sure if his brother taking time to play games on his smart phone or the fact he apparently had an intricate network of spies at his fingertips perplexed him more.

Dean swung the car out of the parking lot, turning onto the road that would take them back into Tennyson. "You don't remember how I used to cream you and Caleb at Scrabble that one summer Pastor Jim enforced Friday Family Game Night."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm just wrapping my mind around the fact you've got Joshua and Carolyn under surveillance."

"You make it sound sinister." Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at his brother. "I'm just protecting my interests."

"Like The Godfather?"

"They don't call me Corleone for nothing."

"Ethan is the only one who calls you that." Sam shifted in his seat. "Do you have people shadowing him and Eli too?"

Dean turned his eyes back to the darkened road instead of answering Sam's question. "You do," Sam accused. "How far does this thing extend?"

"Only to the people closest to me." Dean flashed Sam a look that said the conversation was quickly coming to an end. "Creating a crack notch Security Team was the first assignment I gave to Silas, sort of a supernatural Secret Service. They give me eyes and ears, and some extra hands."

"And me and Caleb? Are we on their rotation?" Sam wasn't sure how he wanted his brother to answer, but Dean's reply had Sam's chest clenching.

"You think I'm going to live states away from you and Damien with no way to reach you two after the hell we've been through the last few years."Dean clenched his right fist. "If Merlin wanted his alarm to be truly useful, it should have come with a fucking teleport system."

Sam shook his head. "There's no way. We would know if..."

"The scary part is you would have never known if I wasn't telling you right now, little brother."

"But how…"

"Let's just say I know you and Damien better than you know yourselves." Dean reached out turned the radio on, effectively ending anymore questions on Sam's part. Sam silently appraised the man beside him in the glow of the street lamps now appearing more frequently as they entered town. It was easy to see flashes of the protective older brother he had always known in The Guardian Dean was becoming.

Sam was surprised that the latest revelation didn't have his old friend anger and resentment bubbling up, causing him to mouth off about control and the need to live his own life at least in New York, free of the clutches of his family. Instead, the idea of Dean's priority being to watch over him, even with all the changes they had undergone filled him with a sense of peace and buoyancy he couldn't explain. Maybe Pastor Jim had been right all those years ago when Sam had left for Stanford. Love was only a chain when one was trying desperately to pull away, any other time it was an anchor that kept you from being lost at sea.

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Spear of Destiny

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed and commented. Sorry for the delay in posting, summer unfortunately is my busiest time of the year. For those in the USA, happy Fourth! Your patience is appreciated and I am almost finished!

RCJ

**_"Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you are; struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself, but those who try to save you." -City of Ashes_**

Tennison's night life was about typical for a mid-size town on a Friday night. The movie theater parking lot was packed, as was the local TGI Fridays. Dean was suddenly remorseful that he'd never eaten at one, and wondered if Juliet would think him a cheapskate if he took her there, the whole dating thing still a myster to him. Caleb would be out, considering Hooters was about the only chain his best friend would go truthfully citing scenery as the obvious reasons, instead of the phenomenal ribs. That left Sam.

"How do you feel about TGI Fridays?" Dean asked his brother as they strolled the lively streets of the historical section of Tennison renovated with bistros boasting the best Southern cuisine and eclectic bars catering to anything from country and punk rock to classic blues. It wasn't what Dean experienced on his trips to New York, but it was three times the bustle of New Haven, which tended to shut down at six in the evening, even on weekends.

"What?" Sam looked away from the store front windows he'd been scanning to stare at Dean.

"The restaurant." Dean carefully maneuvered around arm-linked couples clutching cups of Starbuck's coffee, no doubt chatting about the latest book they'd read, or the band they were hoping to see. Enjoying the evening seemed as easy as breathing to them, and Dean fought off the wave of bitterness that sometimes crept in with a glance to what looked like much greener grass. He cleared his throat, hoping to hold off his own dark reality a bit longer. "Have you been there?"

"I guess, maybe." Sam frowned at him, glancing at his watch for the tenth time. They'd hit a couple of bars already, gained nothing but a slight buzz which the cold night air was quickly stealing. He didn't need to be a psychic to pick up on his brother's grim intensity, something he hadn't quite lost since their showdown with Lucifer.

"I just figured it was a rite of passage for college kids." Dean smiled at two young women dressed in club garb -short skirts over skin tight leggings and high boots. Their scarves and hats obviously chosen more for fashion than the cold weather that had set in that morning. Dean had to admire that the young and beautiful twenty set were rarely thwarted by weather. The wolfish grins they retured were a more familiar landscape, one he could naturally navigate. "Did you and Jess go there?"

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes as Dean turned to watch the girls walk on. "What does that have to do with the hunt?"

"You'd rather I speculate some more on how this all might go down if our luck doesn't soon turn?" Dean had silently run the scenarios through his mind, lingering long on the parts where Caleb suffered for their inability to produce a lead until he'd nearly made himself crazy.

"Margarita Mondays." Sam sighed. "Jess liked hers on the rocks, no salt."

"Did tequila make her clothes come off?" Dean bobbed his eyebrows, grateful when Sam snorted, huddling deeper into his jacket in a gesture that spoke more of embarrassment than one of seeking warmth. For a long time he'd treaded softly when teasing his brother about Jessica, never knowing how his words might rub the wounds from her loss, not willing to make his brother's pain worse. But time had worked its magic, allowing for some levity and brotherly teasing that often sparked a hint of warmth if not exasperation in Sam's dark eyes.

"Why? You thinking of taking Juliet there?"

"As you well know, little brother, I don't need Cuervo to get a woman naked…" Dean's rebuttal was chopped short, his attention caught by a glowing sign in the distance. The bar's name was quickly overshadowed by the lifelike, human-sized figure standing sentry at the entrance. Cerberus's Den featured a stone stature of a three headed dog with three sets of glowing red eyes. The center dog gripped a chalkboard in his mouth, inviting customers in to watch tonight's college game without the crowd and to try the featured drink-A Flaming Hades.

"Right, how could I forget one side effect of your irrepressible charm is spontaneous stripping?" Sam's voice trailed off as he slowed and finally stopped walking completely when Dean drew up short in front of the statue.

"You alright?"

His brother's worried tone told Dean that Sam mistook the marble beast's resemblance to the hell hounds that had torn Dean to shred a few years back as the cause for sudden interest. Dean could admit the sight of the snarling figure was the initial culprit for his hesitation, but it was a different dawning of realization that gave him reason to stop. "What's up with this town's fascination with Romans? First The Silver Chariot, now a bar named for the guardian to the underworld."

"What are you thinking?" Sam's shoulder brushed Dean's as he made room for a group of young men and women vying to get their ID's checked, hands stamped for entrance into Cerberus.

"I think I have a sudden hankering for a Flaming Hades." Dean quirked a brow. "How much you want to bet it has tequila in it?"

Dean shot his brother an 'I told you so' smirk as Diana, the cute bartender in the toga dumped a generous portion of Cuervo into the tumbler she was using to prepare Dean's drink. The Goddess of the Moon gave the concoction a good shake, giving Dean a reason to return her toothy smile as the ends of the short white garment that made up her uniform slid further up her long legs with the movement.

Sam's gaze was locked on the intricate mural of The River Styx which lined the wall behind the bar, giving credence to Dean's theory that his brother paid attention to all the wrong details.

"Where's the flaming part come in?" Dean asked when Diana placed the drink in front of him, the question finally doing what the woman's incredible figure hadn't, reclaiming Sam's attention.

"River water." The bartender grabbed a bottle from behind her, labeled only with a skull and cross bones. She pulled her dark hair up into a high pony tail before filling the shot glass with the murky green liquid, pulling a lighter from beneath the bar. "It's rumored to either give a guy the buzz of his life, or a one way ticket to the Underworld."

"Having been to Hell and back once, I'm pulling for the great buzz." Dean glanced at his brother before winking at the bartender. "Go ahead, Diana light my fire."

Sam didn't hold back the groan Dean knew his cheesy comment warranted. The brunette, probably having endured the cliché a few dozen times that night alone, retained her smile as she set the shot a flame and dropped it glass and all into Dean's drink.

Dean took a quick breath and drank. He relished the burn of the alcohol, the momentary distraction it offered from the real task at hand. The heated rush worked its way through his system dousing some of his worry fueled nerves, but proved lackluster in the end against his high tolerance. Thanks to the not so healthy coping mechanism handed down from his father, Dean could drink most men his size under the table. The Flaming Hades might as well have been a fizzy Fuzzy Navel.

"Smooth." He coughed slightly, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. He nudged Sam. "You should try one, little brother."

"No thanks," Sam nodded to his beer and then grinned at the bartender. "I prefer to retain the lining of my esophagus and stomach, thank you very much."

"Smart man. I bet you're saving your brain cells for greatness?" Diana took a rag from the gold leaf belt cinched around her waist and used it to wipe up some of the alcohol that had splashed over from Dean's drink. "You have that Joe College look about you."

"Told you that shirt made you look like a complete geek, Sammy." Dean took the toothpick from his empty glass, sliding the cherry off with his teeth. The maraschino soured on his tongue as he studied the plastic spear holding the fruit. He quickly swallowed it and the lump in his throat, tossing the drink favor on the bar. "My awesome jacket makes sure I never get called a nerd."

"Because nothing says high school dropout like leather." Sam looked at Diana. "Ignore my brother. He spent his formative years in juvie."

The brunette favored Dean with a playful wink. "I'd definitely peg him as a repeat offender."

Dean returned the gesture. "Only if you count stealing hearts a crime, sweetheart."

Sam snorted. "Let's just say I chose law for a reason. It will save us a small fortune in getting him counsel."

"So you're pre-law?" Diana asked Sam.

"I am."

"I'm a Fine Art major. Junior." She lifted her eyes to one of the flat screens behind the bar where a women's basketball game was showing. "Go, Centurions."

"Excuse me?"

"The Centurions-the _Tennison College _Centurions?"

"Centurions are your mascot?" Dean supposed that explained the mystery with the Roman theme, and found it more than ironic that their quest for The Holy Lance had brought them here. He was waiting for the cosmic punch line.

"Yeah." Diana let her gaze go from Dean back to Sam as she continued to wipe down the bar, allowing her fellow bar tenders to wait on the growing crowd. "I thought you were a student."

"I didn't say I went to Tennison," Sam explained. "I'm at NYU."

"Well, our little private Protestant school can't compete with that, but women's basketball has recently put us on the map." Diana glanced to the flat screen again. "I mean everyone's talking about the early season winning streak. Coach Carter is promising to bring us another National Title."

"Did you say Carter?" Dean leaned forward, his Spidey sense on full alert.

"She's practically the Pat Summit of Atlanta, taking the Centurions to nationals the first year she was here." The bartender pointed to a picture hung above the bar. It was in one of the shadow box kind containing a net from a basketball goal, and a shot of a smiling attractive blond woman holding a large gold trophy. "She and my boss were college roommates. Maire is the one who gave Coach Carter the tip on the job at Tennison. Coach and her staff come here to celebrate after every home game. You could say her winning streak has put Cerberus's Den on the map, too."

"You don't say." Dean looked around at the growing crowd, much larger than any of the other bars they had passed. Drinks and food were flowing.

Sam nudged his brother, lowering his voice. "You think she's related to Chief of Police Carter?"

"You bet she is. You're looking at Chief Carter's wife, the one with the once in a lifetime job proposal." Dean nodded to the picture and the image of a large stuffed Roman soldier in the background. "Check out the mascot."

"That's Caesar," Diana informed them. "I think the costume is a little freaky and cartoonish, like some Disney World reject, but the crowd loves him. It was Coach's idea to build fan support. He has a chariot the cheerleaders pull him around in during half time."

Dean could agree that the mascot looked more oversized stuffed animal than brave warrior, but it was the weapon in his hand that drew Dean's scrutiny. He nudged his brother and pointed to the picture. "It looks like Caesar has his very own Lance and not the plastic kind you'd take off an amusement park character."

"You mean the Spear of Victory." Diana nodded, held her finger up to some guys who'd wedged their way in beside Sam and were impatiently waving bills in her direction in hopes of scoring their drink orders more quickly. "It's the only closely authentic thing about the whole get up. Coach Carter found it at some estate sale when she moved here. Caesar throws it from the foul line through a flaming banner of the opposing team's mascot before each game. It's kind of lame if you ask me, but all in the name of showmanship I guess. Coach says it's her lucky charm."

"She has no idea," Sam muttered.

"Is that a home game?" Dean pointed to the screen, reaching for his wallet as he stood.

"Wow, you guys really aren't from around here."

"Where are they playing?" He tossed a twenty on the bar, adding another five when Diana hesitated. They had been on the right track about Chief of Police Carter. Only he was reaping the benefits by proxy. His wife had possession of The Holy Lance, meaning everyone in her small circle benefitted-her husband, her team, and the entire town, including Mayor Jameson.

"At The Coliseum, on campus, like always."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course they are."

"I get a break in twenty." She smiled at Dean as she scooped the money up and stuffed the five within the front folds of her toga. "If you wait, I'll drive you over myself."

"Maybe next time," Dean called over his shoulder, already moving to the door. He wondered briefly if it would be wrong to bring Caleb here for a celebratory drink after this whole mess was behind them, maybe find out if Diana lived up to her goddess stature.

"What should we do?" Sam rushed to keep up, interrupting Dean's lurid train of thought. "It's not like we can just walk in and snatch The Spear of Victory, which we're pretty certain is The Spear of Destiny away from Caesar during the middle of a game."

"Who says?" Dean hit the door, pushing past the line of people waiting to be admitted into Cerberus. "Give me one reason why not. Damien is waiting on us."

"I'll give you several." Sam ticked off his thoughts on his fingers as they cut across a darkened alley to avoid the crowded sidewalks. "The game is being watched by thousands of fans, it's publicly televised, and there is bound to be security. Then there is the whole part where everyone who has ever had The Lance taken from them has died a tragic death. I don't know about you, but I'm not comfortable with being the cause of Coach Carter's demise. She doesn't understand what she has."

"All easy to maneuver with the right disguise and perspective." Dean didn't care what he had to do now that the prize was in sight, though the thought of hurting an innocent set him on edge. He had to believe that history only highlighted the worst case scenario when it came to The Lance. "It's not like Carter used the thing to kill people, to cause great harm to her enemy. I'm guessing the worst that happens to her is she loses her title shot, her job at the most. The town's crime rate goes back up, Chief Carter will have to forfeit his fancy espresso machine, Jameson's dream of a senate seat goes up in smoke, and Cerberus has to go back to watering down drinks to turn a profit."

"That's a whole lot of theorizing. What if you're wrong?" Sam grabbed his brother's arm as Dean picked up speed. "And what do you mean by disguise?"

Sam, as usual was being his difficult doubting Tom self. "We just need to blend, Sammy."

"Yeah, because a couple of Tennison t-shirts and a big finger are going to let us walk in and snatch the winning team's good luck charm."

"You need to have faith, little brother." Dean quickened his pace when he caught sight of the Impala. They would call Joshua on the way, and as soon as they had The Holy Lance getting Damien back would be a piece of cake. "I have a plan."

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"This is a horrible plan, Dean." Sam looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, giving a low groan as his brother held up the giant head for him to take. "It's never going to work."

"I think you look great." Dean shoved the head at Sam. "It's going to work."

"I'm a Fighting Duck, Dean." Sam gestured at the clunky body of the costume. It was ridiculous. "I can barely walk in this thing, let alone go to battle. How the hell am I supposed to wrestle with a Roman Centurion?"

"I don't expect you to go toe to toe with Caesar, just goad him into chasing you this way out of the spotlight. Once he's in the hallway, I'll take care of things." Dean grinned, glancing down at Sam's huge duck feet. Sam resisted the urge to strangle him, or perhaps beat him to death with his massive wings. "Do ducks even have toes?"

"I hate you." Sam growled, pulling the head piece over his face. They'd paid the Madison Tech Fighting Duck's mascot a hundred bucks to let them 'rent' the humiliating costume for ten minutes. Sam wasn't sure if it was Dean's promise of a practical joke on Tennison's smug Caesar, or the fact that Madison Tech was down by twenty points in the beginning of the fourth quarter that had the student so willing to abandon his post, but it was just Sam's luck that the kid was freakishly tall, which meant the suit was sized perfectly for Sam.

"You love me and you know it." Dean smacked Sam's fluffy tail feathers. "This takes me back to when you used to sing 'Little Ducky Duddle' every time you took a bath."

Sam held up his wing in what he hoped Dean correctly interpreted as a fowl gesture. Caleb owed him big time. "Who picks a Fighting Duck for their mascot?"

"You do realize your old Alma Mater Stanford had a lame ass tree as their mascot, right? It looks like the decorations for a pre-school play. "

"Hey, don't disrespect The Tree. It's sacred in Palo Alto." Sam tried to run his hands through his hair, but was thwarted by his wings. "Just give me a minute. I'll be out there and get this done."

Dean lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, Ducky Duddle. Don't get your feathers in a twist."

"I really, really hate you."

"Just channel the wrath, Sammy. It will make for a good show." Dean gave him two thumbs up, backed out and exited to set up for his position in the corner of the stands.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror. He couldn't help to wonder if Mackland Ames as the former Scholar of The Brotherhood had ever sunk so low. There was no way Mac would be coerced into wearing a giant duck costume in front of hordes of people all armed with cell phone cameras. Let alone following through on a complex scheme such as Dean's. He actually wanted Sam to put on a show for the crowd, to antagonize Caesar by flapping and quacking about the chariot. It would no doubt be an internet sensation, especially when buzz of the stolen spear got around.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. As The Scholar, Mac would have come up with his own plan, a more logical one where he wasn't forced to make a complete idiot of himself. One last look in the mirror had Sam deciding that another tactic was indeed called for; one not inspired only by the former Scholar, but Sam's father, the late Knight as well. His mind made up, he reached to pull off one of the duck feet.

Sam didn't even look in his brother's direction as he blew past him. His sole focus was on the intended target. Caesar was reclined in his chariot at the corner of the bleachers, taking in the game. Sam pulled his hoody up, stalked over to the lounging centurion and snatched The Lance from his slack grip.

Caesar looked down at his now empty hands and before he had a chance to move, Sam turned and took off for the exit. No one moved to intercept him, no security shouted for him to halt, the only voice he heard was that of his brother's calling for him to wait up, but Sam ignored him, not stopping until he'd made it to the parking lot, ducking down behind the Impala.

"What happened to my brilliant plan?" Dean skidded to a breathless halt beside him.

"It sucked." Sam glanced over the hood of the Impala, reaching for the car door when he saw no one exit after his brother. "Call it a Scholar's Mandate."

"Scholar's don't get to have a mandate." Dean shook his head, pulling the keys from his pocket and quickly making his way around the front to the driver's door. "So you decided the direct approach would work after all?"

Sam got in the car, carefully maneuvering The Holy Lance so as not to stab Dean, although tempting. "I guess I was wrong."

"About?" Dean turned the car around, heading out of the crowded parking lot.

"Turns out you _can _simply walk in during a televised game and take The Spear of Destiny away from Caesar in front of a thousand fans." Sam grinned at his brother, angling The Lance so the tip was pointed away from Dean's head. "Who knew?"

"You think your John Winchester move might work with getting Caleb back?"

Sam had been wondering the same thing himself. "Why not? I mean we have The Lance now, victory is guaranteed, right?"

"You're thinking Reagan didn't consider that if we actually found The Lance, we'd have the upper hand?" Dean turned onto the road that would lead them back into town. It was a quiet two lane, made more desolate by the late hour and the fact most of Tennison seemed to be either at the game or waiting in line at Cerberus. He took his eyes off the road to meet Sam's. "If what Castiel said about The Lance is true, then it's neutral when it's with us, unless we willing choose to act on its power. It's not going to kick in like it did with Carter."

Sam looked at the spear in his hands, finding it hard to wrap his mind around the fact the thing was authentic, that it had been used against Jesus, a man Sam found almost as hard to believe existed as the mythical big foot they had never gotten around to hunting. "If we used it, there would be repercussions to consider. Like what might happen to you when you turn it over to Castiel? Do you think Reagan was hoping you'd be tempted to use it?"

"I don't know, but if he thinks we haven't learned our lesson about using supernatural forces, then he doesn't know us very well."

They had all sold pieces of their souls in the name of brotherhood, Dean literally when he'd made the deal that sent him to Hell to bring Sam back from the dead. Caleb had given in to his demon side, using Noah Seaver's amulet to stop Dean from having to pay the ultimate price for his sacrifice, and Sam had slept with the enemy, _became_ the enemy, to get revenge when all their efforts proved unable to save Dean. "Maybe he knows us better than we think."

Dean turned first to glare at him and then opened his mouth to reply, to no doubt deny what Sam was sure his brother was thinking. They would do what they had to in order to get Caleb back and they both knew it, even if that meant risking the wrath of God, or whatever force dictated The Lance's formidable power. He didn't get a chance to speak however as Sam's gaze was drawn to the road where the headlights illuminated the tall figure in a trench coat standing dead center of the Impala's path.

"Dean! Look out!"

Dean slammed on the breaks, bringing them to a screeching halt mere inches from Castiel, who seemed neither concerned that the car's bumper was touching his knees, nor worried when Dean jumped from the car with murder in his eyes.

"Damnit, Castiel! How many times do I have to tell you not to pull this shit?"

Sam made his exit more cautiously; grateful the spot Castiel had chosen to drop in on them was at least in a straightaway so that if there was any oncoming traffic they wouldn't be a complete surprise or detriment. Dean had left the car running, headlights on.

"You have The Lance." Castiel's declaration did not improve Dean's demeanor. Sam caught the psychic pulse as his brother's tempered flared with pent up frustration and anger.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Castiel turned his eyes from The Spear in Sam's hand to face Dean, who had wedged himself between the Impala's grill and the angel.

"You knew I was in Tennison."

"Then why the no show when I called for you hours ago?" Dean pushed Castiel back a step. "Hours, Cas."

"I was protecting you." Castiel stood his ground. "I can be tracked by Raphael."

"Protecting us or protecting your assets?"

"I consider them one in the same."

Dean shook his head and Sam worried briefly if his brother might physically lash out. Castiel was not helping his case by appearing completely unrepentant for his action. "Caleb's been kidnapped by a group of yahoos claiming to be some sort of bizarre Triad, but my money is on you already knowing that."

"I knew of the Trinity's existence."

"And you didn't mention this _why_?" Dean growled.

"Your intelligence is slightly above average for your species, Dean. I imagined you understood the concept of good and evil. It all began in the Garden of Eden when…"

"Never mind." Dean waved a hand in the air with a growl. "Did you know they took Caleb, to force my hand with The Lance?"

Sam hoped Castiel would say no, or at least put a spin on the alternative answer. Instead, the angel stayed true to his stoic form, giving the worst possible response in a manner one might deliver the day's weather forecast.

"It was unfortunate timing, though quite strategic on The Trinity's part."

"Strategic?" Sam didn't even attempt to intervene when Dean wrapped his hands in the lapels of Castiel's coat. "You call my best friend being tortured by a psychopath Navy SEAL on a power trip unfortunate timing!"

"I could not risk Raphael discovering there was another Guardian in close proximity of The Lance-a Guardian who may be willing to pledge his alliance to their faction."

"Could Walsh do that?" Sam hadn't had time to wrap his mind around how the yin and yang of two Triads worked, but imagined it could be possible in theory if they were in fact opposite faces of the same coin that Walsh would have the same authority as Dean.

"I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you," Dean said before the angel could reply. "If Reagan Walsh is as smart as he says he is, he'd turn tail and run at the first sign of Castiel's kind, blowing on his magic flute for all he's worth." Dean let Castiel go with a shove. "There are days I curse my own fucking stupidity."

"I need for you to give me The Holy Lance, Dean." Castiel glanced skyward. "Time is running short."

"You're damn straight it is-for Caleb." Dean pointed a finger at The Lance. "_That_ is the only thing I can count on to get him back in one piece. So unless you have a better offer to toss on the table, it stays with me."

"Is there any way you could find him?" Sam stepped forward, his grip tightening on The Spear. He wanted to trust Castiel, considered him a friend in an odd way, but wasn't sure the angel wouldn't take the weapon from him if he was desperate enough to betray Dean on a level Sam knew his brother would not take lightly. Dean's loyalty for those he allowed in his inner circle was unshakeable, but family came first.

Castiel sighed, showing a rare display of irritation, which confirmed Sam's theory that his brother at times could test the patience of a saint. "I doubt the Trinity has the knowledge or the capability to shield their location from me."

"You can angel us in there?" Dean looked less angry. "We'll get Caleb out, then you can have The Lance."

"The more I use my abilities, the longer I am out in the open, the easier it becomes for Raphael to find me, you -and The Lance."

"It's not like I'm going to turn it over to him." Dean let out a sigh of his own, which Sam recognized as a sign he was willing to let Castiel's transgression slide in order to get his much needed assistance now. "You know I have your back, no matter what."

"You don't have to give it to him, Dean. The Lance is more powerful when handed over by a Guardian, but it can be taken from you. It would not end well for any of us, least of all The Guardian it was taken from."

"What do you mean?" Sam moved closer to his brother, hoping Castiel was not alluding to the fate of all the others who had once possessed The Holy Lance. "Dean hasn't used it as a weapon."

"That doesn't matter. It's under his protection now. He must give it with good blessings or keep it hidden."

"Then I suggest you find a way to cover your assets, Cas." Dean turned and started back for the Impala, Sam's own irritation at his brother's stubborn streak flared.

"Caleb wouldn't allow you to risk yourself, Dean." Sam had no doubt Caleb would not be above inventing a Knight Mandate that overruled The Guardian in any case where Dean's life would be put in jeopardy.

"Yeah, well, Caleb's not here." Dean turned and met his gaze, and Sam knew just as Reagan Walsh had known, his brother's priorities often conflicted with what was in his best interest. No one was going to stop him from doing what he believed was best for his family. "First we're getting my baby off this road and then we're going after Damien."

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Dean would be the first to admit his plans weren't always the well-thought, long pondered and dissected mental blueprints his brother liked to linger over. They were at times fueled more by his heart than commanded by his head, but this one was off the cuff and brilliant. Not only did forcing Castiel to wear a pizza delivery uniform give them an entrance into Reagan Walsh's lair, it also gave Dean a fair amount of satisfaction considering the angel's choice of selective assistance over the last twenty four hours.

He'd decided to go lenient on Castiel, opting to save most his ire for Owen. Dean fully intended to kill the bastard, put him down like the rabid dog he was if not for the long rambling text Sam received from Riley on their way to get Josh that included something about The Matrix String Theory and Superman. In the end, Dean had gotten the gist of it; absolutely under no circumstances were they to kill anybody in The Trinity.

"I don't understand the need for me to wear this strange costume, Dean."

Dean shifted The Lance to his other hand, ignoring Castiel as he bent down over the supplies he'd brought. "It's not a costume. Clowns and kids begging for candy wear costumes. Professionals wear disguises."

"And criminals," Joshua interjected pulling his coat tighter about him. "Let's not forget the unseemly element."

"You're not here to talk, Josh." Dean dug what he needed from his duffel, thankful the clear cold night with its full moon provided perfect light for their mission. He handed the ear piece, spray paint cans and knife to The Advisor. "Stick to your part of the plan."

"Ah, yes. The great plan." Joshua took the items with a smirk. "Why is it I must be the one to bleed for the cause? I'm beginning to feel like a bewildered member of the A-Team. What was it they accused their leader of being high on when he led them into questionable circumstances that would most assuredly secure their demise?"

"They called it the jazz and please don't encourage him," Sam answered Joshua as he rejoined them and knelt by Dean. "No signs of movement from the back of the house. It looks locked tight as a drum-motion activated security lights on every corner."

"Your abilities giving you anything?" Dean gave Walsh credit. Hiding in the middle of a suburb, only a few blocks from the Sheriff's, was ballsy and unexpected. It explained why none of the motels or hotels they checked had turned up any sign of the threesome and Caleb. Even if Dean had considered the suburbs it would have taken too long to search every house. Walsh's cockiness would work against him in the end.

"Besides a massive headache?" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "No."

"It's likely there are other witch's purses in the house, not just those we found in the trees on the perimeter of the property." Joshua lifted one of the pouches he'd removed from their initial search. "This would not be enough to explain the psychic black hole and alchemy backwash we've experienced."

"I told you The Trinity are in the house," Castiel spoke up. "Would it not be simpler if I transported all of us inside at one time?"

Dean shook his head. They had held their position in a neighbor's tree lined yard parallel to the property Castiel had brought them to. Every protective instinct Dean had shouted at him to take the place as soon as they were there, but he would not underestimate Walsh again.

"Your intel doesn't give us specific locations, Cas. We don't know where Caleb is or what condition he's in. For all we know Walsh could be expecting us to utilize your particular talents. I'm not risking a Mexican standoff or walking into a boxed canyon without some leverage of my own this time. I want one of his men out in the open and Caleb out of the line of fire."

"And I wish to remove this disguise as quickly as possible." The angel picked at the soiled red and white polo with the Rocky's Pizza logo on the front. "It has a very strange aroma."

"It's called garlic and anchovies," Dean's mouth twitched. The delivery outfit had been stuffed in the back of the Impala along with their exterminator and plumber get ups. "Be glad it doesn't come with feathers and duck feet."

"Trust me when I say you got off easy." Sam handed Castiel the pizza they had picked up on the way, sans the couple of slices Dean had snatched. "All you have to do is go ring the bell. They don't know what you look like, and even if their psychic is halfway decent, he's going to be restrained by the measures they are taking to block Caleb."

"Just in case, put this in your pocket." Joshua handed Castiel the Witch's Purse. "Think of it as a cloak of invisibility. I added a little something extra that I think will protect you from any other fallout as well."

"Any cloak would be preferable to these garments."

Dean handed Castiel the matching ball cap, grinning when the angel pulled it on his head, tugging the bill nearly over his eyes. "You'll be back in your trench coat in no time, buddy."

"I'm quite glad my vessel was not a pizza delivery man."

Dean snorted, and pointed to the front of the house. "Give Sammy and me time to make it to the yard and then do your thing."

"Ring the bell?"

"Or knock." Dean nodded. "I know it's a formality you angels usually skip, but we actually want someone to warn us they are at the door."

"I understand." Castiel looked to the spear Dean was holding. "You should bring The Lance so I can go as soon as we are finished."

"Sorry to ruin the ancient gladiator image, but I prefer to keep my hands free for my guns, thank you very much. My Advisor will be holding onto the cursed antiquity until I give the all clear." When Dean turned back around from handing the Lance to Joshua, Castiel had disappeared. Dean hoped he was following through on his part of the plan and not merely pouting.

"Yes, do leave me with the instrument of certain doom, Colonel." Joshua frowned at Dean. "All in the name of the great master plan."

"It's not a far reach, you know-that whole A-Team gig." Dean grinned, unable to resist needling Joshua even on the brink of rescuing Caleb and setting Reagan Walsh straight on the fact of who was the real Guardian in town. He finished gathering the last of his things, sliding Pan's Flute into his pocket. "There _are_ four of us. Carolyn could be our hot brainy chick on the sidelines. We could take Walsh's pimped out van, convince Damien women find men with Mohawks and gold chains hot; before you know it, we're busting Sammy out of the loony bin and on the lamb from the law."

"Why do I have to be Murdock?" Sam countered, giving one last check to the loads in his shotgun. "I could be Face."

"Not with that hair cut, Bro." Dean secured his spare gun in the holster at his ankle. "Never mind your pathetic wardrobe or the part where you suck at lying. GQ Josh already comes equipped with the designer clothes, nice car, and he cons people for a living."

"I do not con people. Public relations is an art."

Joshua's adamant denial was a nice shot of normalcy that calmed Dean's pre-infiltration nerves. It was almost as good as the inappropriate bantering he and Caleb often did before a hunt, a habit that used to drive John Winchester up the wall. The impatient sigh from Sam was so reminiscent of their dad, it helped Dean push away the nagging doubts that this whole plan could unravel in a heartbeat to one giant cluster fuck. He took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of all the unknown variables to the back of his mind and did what he did best.

"Painting is an art, Josh. Just ask Damien." Dean gave his Advisor a rueful grin, feigning the upmost confidence in their success. "Screwing people over without them realizing it is more of a pathological skillset."

"A skillset you don't mind utilizing when it suits your needs."

"Damn straight." He pointed to the spray can in his Advisor's hand, slipping his ear piece on. "I wasn't just wagging my tongue when I told Walsh you were our secret weapon. As soon as we're in the house, get to work and be ready for my signal."

"If you're done with pre-game pep talk, Hannibal, we should go." Sam moved to the end of their tree-line cover. "Caleb's waiting on us."

Dean didn't need the reminder. He nodded to Josh, hoping his Advisor understood that if things for some reason went south he was to get the hell out of there and regroup with Bobby at Griffin's. Bobby, as well as Mac were aware of Dean's wishes if the worst happened and their Triad didn't make it out of a situation, but as Dean made his way with Sam across the yard to the hedges on the side of Reagan Walsh's hideout, he swore a silent vow that those particular plans would never need to be put in action.

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Sam let out a sigh of relief when Castiel appeared on the porch just as he and Dean secured their positions behind shrubbery on either side of the door. He met Dean's gaze as the security lights flooded the yard, watching as Castiel first pushed the doorbell once, twice, three times, then knocked loudly.

"May I help you?"

"Pizza for Barzini." Sam watched as Castiel held out the box to the man who'd opened the door. He winced at Castiel's forced Joker-like smile and the name Dean had instructed the angel to use. Sam hoped The Trinity weren't avid fans of The Godfather and wouldn't pick up on one of Vito Corleone's rival Dons.

"Sorry, we didn't order a pizza." He started to close the door, but Castiel moved forward, speaking in a loud voice.

"But I have the address right here. I made it in less than fifteen minutes."

The man stepped out onto the porch with huff. It wasn't Walsh and not at all what Sam imagined Owen, Caleb's counterpart to look like after hearing Dean's description of the man. That left the Scholar wannabe.

"Look, there must have been a mistake. There is no one here by the name of Barzini."

"This is 300 West Crestview." Castiel struggled with the extra large box, trying to pull the order form from his pocket. He fumbled right on cue, dropping the pizza at the man's feet as he pulled the crumpled paper free. "Great! My boss is going to take this out of my check."

"Maybe it's the next house over." The guy knelt down to help pick up the pizza and that's when Dean stepped out of the shadows, pressing his gun to the base of the man's skull.

"Look where good manners will get you," he hissed. "Stand up, keep both hands on the box."

"If this is a hold up, you most definitely chose the wrong house." The man did as Dean said with his voice calm as he kept his gaze on Castiel.

"This is more of a take out." Dean stepped closer to Walsh's man. "What you and your buddies called a hot extraction, I believe."

"Winchester." The man smiled, realization dawning on his face as Sam stepped onto the porch in front of him, shotgun level at his chest. "And his little brother, too." He turned his head to where Castiel had been, but the angel had disappeared. "Guardian angel makes three."

"We're going to move into the house nice and slow." Sam gestured at the door. "If there are any surprises waiting, I'd advise you tell us now. My brother really hates surprises. They make his trigger finger jittery."

The man nodded, stepping into the entranceway shadowed by Dean. Sam joined them, pulling the door closed as he stepped to the left to sweep the hallway.

"Yo, Jonah, who the hell was at the…" The man who entered from the right stopped instantly upon seeing his teammate and Dean. He dropped the bag of chips he was carrying, hand going to his back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sam aimed the shotgun at his head. "Stay where you are, pull the gun you're packing nice and easy and put in on the floor, then keep your hands where I can see them."

"Look, Owen. It's the Winchesters," Jonah replied smoothly, lifting the box in his grasp. "They were considerate enough to bring pizza."

"Well fuck me and call me amazed." Owen laughed, doing as Sam said before lifting his hands in the air. "I guess this means I lose that bet with Reaves."

"Kiss that fifty goodbye." Jonah nodded. "Contrary to popular belief, Sam and Dean Winchester can in fact find their own dicks in the dark."

Dean shoved the muzzle of his gun hard against Jonah's head. "Keep talking smart ass and we'll see if your buddy Owen can track down all the pieces of your skull."

"Easy." Sam moved closer to his brother's side afraid Dean might be goaded into forgetting Riley's warning. He angled himself to cover their backs if he had to, but kept his shotgun trained on Owen. The Navy SEAL was dressed in jeans, a stained gray t-shirt. Sam couldn't help but notice the bruises and nicks on his knuckles. He tightened his hold on the shotgun, not ashamed to admit that the predatory grin on the man's face, his nonchalance at their appearance was unnerving, but it was his eyes that spoke volumes. They remained flat and lifeless even as his smile widened.

"If I'd known we were going to have company, I would have changed after my workout." Owen glanced down at the splatters on his chest then back up at Sam. "I'm guessing demon blood is a bitch to get out."

"Where's Walsh?" Sam demanded, hoping to derail Dean's wrath.

"I have a better question..." In one smooth, quick move Dean took his gun away from Jonah's head, aimed it at Owen and pulled the trigger. "Where the fuck is Caleb?"

"Dean!" Sam clenched his jaw, so much for the element of surprise.

"What? I didn't kill him."

"Son of a bitch!" Owen grabbed his shoulder, curling over with what Sam was disturbed to realize was peals of laughter. When he straightened up, his hand pressed against the growing spot of crimson on his shirt, his smile was still in place, though his eyes were now alight with emotion. "You are a man after my own cold black heart, Winchester. Maybe I should have been _your_ Knight-maybe I still could."

"Answer his question." Sam tightened his finger on the trigger, not sure if it wouldn't be worth testing Riley's theory to get rid of Owen once and for all before he could hurt anyone else Sam cared about. "Make that, both of our questions!"

"Reagan went in to town." Jonah spoke, his voice losing some of the arrogance from before. "Reaves went along for the ride."

"That's a lie." Dean jammed the gun against his head again. "Angel sonar doesn't lie."

"I'm right here, Winchester."Sam turned his head, but kept his weapon trained on Owen. A wounded animal was twice as dangerous and he wasn't about to discount Owen's tenacity. Reagan Walsh stood in the entranceway off to their left wearing nothing but a towel, his dark hair dripping wet, Castiel at his side. "I've heard of an angel on your shoulder, but having one show up in the middle of your shower is a little overkill."

"Nice work, Cas." Dean smirked at Reagan. "Catching Walsh with his pants down makes us almost even."

"I take it you found The Holy Lance." Reagan's eyebrows lifted as he regarded Castiel. "It would explain the ethereal assistance."

"Castiel was anxious to see this whole situation cleared up. He wasn't up to waiting around for you to contact us seeing as he has a war to get back to."

Reagan grinned, and Sam had a feeling Dean had been right about this setup from the beginning. A hunch Walsh quickly confirmed. "Raphael said that might be the case."

Sam started as Raphael and three more angels appeared in the small foyer. Owen moved his good arm to reach for the weapon on the floor, but Sam retrained his gun on the SEAL's chest. "Twitch and I'll remove your hand the hard way."

"Castiel." Raphael inclined his head to the other angel. "So good of you to join our surprise party. I hope you brought the gift I've been hoping for."

"Who says anyone's surprised dickhead?" Dean turned to Raphael, touching the ear piece that connected him to Joshua before the angel could say a word. "Engage angel elimination, Face."

The bright light that flashed through the room was blinding. Sam brought his arm up to shield his eyes despite the fact he was ready for it. The Trinity reacted like a grenade had been tossed into the room, ducking down covering their heads.

"What the fuck?" Owen roared once the room was back to normal.

Sam grinned at his brother, who motioned for Walsh to join the rest of his team.

"That was complements of our Advisor. A little blood, some special ancient glyphs and bam-Raphael and kind are blown to kingdom come." Dean pulled Pan's Flute from inside his jacket, tossing it at Reagan's feet. "It works much better than your toy, which although authentic, and I'm sure great at picking up chicks, doesn't do squat to angels."

"Imagine our surprise when Castiel didn't even feel a tickle." Sam met his brother's gaze, then looked to Walsh. "Then we found the tracking device hidden inside. Didn't take long to figure out you three were running a good con. Raphael was your buyer all along."

"He made me an offer I couldn't refuse." Reagan sighed. "It seems you boys took care of any hard feelings on his part."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Dean took a step closer. "Raphael will be back, and I'm quite certain, knowing angels the way that I do, he'll not be happy with you or the lack of product. God may be really into the whole mercy and forgiveness thing, but his soldiers, not so much."

"All the more reason for us to say our farewells and bid each other adieu until we meet again," Jonah offered hopefully.

"Unfortunately, we kind of feel the same way the angels do." Sam knew they couldn't kill any of The Trinity, but it felt good to watch them squirm. "You three aren't going anywhere."

"Surely you realize by now that The Lady of the Lake made provisions. She's serious about the whole balance thing." Walsh looked from Sam to Dean.

Dean grinned. "I spent forty years in Hell being tortured by the demon of all demons; the Lady of the Lake doesn't exactly scare me, Walsh. What is she going to do? Trap me in a tree for eternity?"

"Then think of your Triad."

"They're always my first priority." Sam felt the sudden spike in his brother's emotions before Dean's face changed, smile fading, eyes hardening until they flashed like jade struck by sunlight. "Of course, you already know that."

"Like I said before, we're not as different as you think."

"We'll see." Dean touched the earpiece. "Josh, we're coming out."

Sam felt the vibration strum through his ring before the purple glow filled the room. Triad magic was far more powerful than any ward from a Witch's Purse.

"What the hell is that?" Reagan searched Dean's face, then looked to his own band. "What did you just do?"

"Triad Trap-courtesy of our secret weapon."

"A Triad Trap?"

Jonah shook his head when Reagan turned on him. "I've never heard of any such thing."

"It's basically the same concept as a devil's trap," Sam explained, silently cheering that his counterpart wasn't as knowledgeable as he thought himself. "Your weapons are useless, your abilities neutralized, and you're not going anywhere beyond the confines of the trap, in this case, the house."

"In other words it's a real bitch." Dean's smile returned.

"If that's true, then the same applies to you." Reagan started to step forward.

Dean raised his gun. "Funny thing, we learned the hard way about a Triad trap, it only works if the entire Triad is present."

"The angel," Reagan ran his hands through his hair. "He took your Knight out before coming for me."

"It pays to have friends in high places."

"I'm sure he feels the same considering you'll be turning over The Lance."

"Score one for the good guys." Dean backed up to the door. "You ready, Sam."

Sam gave The Trinity one last look, following his brother.

"You're just going to leave us here like this?" Reagan demanded.

Dean opened the door, turned to face Walsh. Sam knew what his brother was going to say, unable to resist the opportunity to throw Reagan's words back at him. "You're a Guardian; you'll figure it out eventually."

Sam slammed the door behind them, not surprised to find Joshua and Caleb waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Damien." Dean moved quickly to The Knight's side, who despite looking beat to hell and seemed to be depending on Joshua to keep him vertical was grinning."No more play dates with other Knights for you, Lancelot."

"About time, Arthur." Caleb clasped Dean's wrist, lifting his gaze to Sam. "Took you two long enough."

"Dean insisted we stop for pizza on the way." Sam joined them, wincing when he got clear of the house and the psychic link he shared with Caleb flared to life. "You okay?"

"Nothing some painkillers and a few stitches won't fix."

"Where's Castiel?" Dean glanced to Josh. "Did that extra little spice you added to the witch's purse not protect him from being vanquished?"

"I'm here, Dean." Castiel appeared beside them, once more dressed in his typical suit and trench coat.

"Then fix this." Dean gestured to Caleb's face. "All of it."

Sam noticed neither Caleb nor Castiel objected to the healing this time, the angel quickly moving to touch The Knight's head, Caleb relenting. Sam sensed The Knight's relief didn't release his hold until every bruise and cut had disappeared.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, lowering his hand when he was done.

"Don't apologize." Caleb's grin was no longer forced now freed from the grips of pain. "For once, I am totally alright with you groping me."

"This will have to suffice as payment." Dean took The Holy Lance from Joshua, offering it to Castiel. "Take it with my blessings and get the hell out of here before Raphael shows up again."

"Thank you." Castiel took the spear. "If I haven't said it before, I'm extremely pleased that you're on my back, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I _have _your back, Cas."

"Of course." Castiel nodded, solemnly. "That too."

Castiel was gone before Dean could say anything else.

"Does anyone want to fill me in on what just happened?" Caleb looked from Dean to Sam.

"Dean played fast and loose with our lives. We were lucky to have survived," Joshua replied flatly, moving to gather their things. "What else is new?"

"That doesn't tell me anything." Caleb's brow furrowed. "How'd you find The Spear?"

"No big deal really," Dean explained, flashing Sam a look. "We tracked down Cerberus, you know the Roman guardian of the underworld then took a little trip down The River Styx."

"Cerberus and The River Styx? You're serious?"

Sam nodded. "Dean drank a Flaming Hades then Diana, the goddess of the moon sent us to a game at the Coliseum."

"Where Sammy fought Caesar before a crowd of thousands for The Lance, while wearing a duck suit," Dean continued.

"I _did not_ wear a duck suit."

"Because that's the most unbelievable part of this bullshit story?" Caleb shook his head. "This is what happens when I leave you two alone."

"It was all part of Dean's brilliant plan." Sam smiled at his brother, setting him up.

Dean tossed an arm around Caleb's shoulder, guiding him to where they had stashed the Impala. "You know how I love it when a plan comes together."

Caleb sighed. "I have a feeling the drive to New Haven is going to be very long?"

"We're stopping at Griffin's on the way." Sam called after them. He had asked Riley to meet them there, hoping that the college student might be able to shed some light on The Order and the Trinity. He doubted Joshua's Triad Trap would solve their problem for long. Sam needed the reassurance of having as much information as possible, if there was any pertinent information to be had before they crossed paths with Reagan Walsh and his team again.

"Seriously?" Caleb groaned. "Have I not endured enough torture on this gig?"

"Drop the bad attitude, Damien." Dean glanced over his shoulder to meet Sam's gaze, winked. "How do you feel about Mohawks?"

Sam didn't catch Caleb's answer, but he heard his brother's deep laugh, a feeling of euphoria dampening the lingering worry festering in his gut. He cast one last look to the house where Walsh and his crew had been locked, a shiver running through him as he met Jonah's gaze through one of the windows. He might not have been able to pick up on any telepathy from the other psychic, but his piercing gaze promised they would meet again. Sam clenched his fist, the faint tingling in his ring finger adding to the eeriness of the moment. For the first time in months Sam was dreading going back to New York for a reason besides the fact school and the normal life it had once brought was a miserable disappointment this time around. He didn't want to leave his brother alone with this new threat. The thought prodded him to break the stare off with Jonah, locking his gaze on the two men quickly leaving him behind.

"Hey, guys, wait up."

Epilogue coming soon!


	9. Chapter 9

Spear of Destiny: Rise of The Dragons

Epilogue

By Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you so much to all those who took the time to review and comment! This story took on a life of its own, taking up about six months and over 200 pages-not exactly what I was planning. Thanks to Tidia for making this a better piece. Her new story will be coming up! The boys are on a hunt for a Wendigo in territory made more treacherous by a powerful coven. The third in The Rise of The Dragons series will be co-written and should follow Tidia's story.

RcJ

**"_And when man faces destiny, destiny ends and man comes into his own."  
><em>**

Dean glanced over to his sleeping passenger, hesitating before reaching out to shake Caleb awake. The drive to Griffin's had been just over an hour, his Knight practically drifted off before they had pulled out of the hotel parking lot. The pragmatic side of Dean's brain worked to convince him that Castiel had taken care of all the damage Caleb sustained during his time with Walsh and the demented Trinity, but Dean understood all too well that there were things not as easily healed as broken bones and bruises. The slamming of the back doors as Sam and Joshua exited did what Dean was reluctant to do, and his best friend startled awake with a gasped, "No".

"Hey." Dean placed a hand on Caleb's shoulder, anchoring him. They had shared enough crappy motel rooms over the years and summers at the farm that they understood each other's demons, but it was an unspoken code they discussed them only in direst of circumstance. Dean figured torture at the hands of a deranged Navy Seal warranted at least their version of a semi heart to heart. "You okay?"

Caleb cleared his throat, giving a sharp nod before he quickly turned his focus to the surroundings outside the passenger window. "There are more people here than just Porter. Bobby shouldn't be here yet."

Dean sighed at Caleb's vigilant watchdog routine. He followed his friend's line of sight, noting Griffin's twinkling Christmas lights in the liquid silver of pre dawn. The scene brought a reminder of happier holidays, and he wondered if the strands Pastor Jim used to string around the porch at the farm were still boxed in the attic. They could all use some new memories. Caleb must have taken his silence as concern because he turned to Dean with a frown.

"I can't get a good read from here, but there's at least four, maybe five not counting Josh and Sam. You think Porter is sucking up with a celebratory feast for The Guardian?"

"I had Carolyn book Riley, Boy Genius and his buddy Bradley a flight in to Atlanta as soon as I found out about Walsh." Dean removed his touch when Caleb looked down at the hand still present on his arm with a twisted smirk. It seemed The Knight and Guardian were not in agreement on what constituted a dreaded chick flick moment, in this case Caleb's whimpered filled, restless sleep that darkened their drive and drove Scholar and Advisor quickly out of the car before the engine even stopped running. "Although, I'm kind of hoping he might in his typical ass kissing way have had his lovely cook, Helena whip us up some more of those steaks with a side of eggs and pancakes this time."

Caleb frowned, rubbing his forehead. "So you're really buying into this mirror Triad shit?"

"What choice do I have, Damien?" Dean could see the spark in Caleb's gold eyes and held up a hand before The Knight's temper flared giving him an even worse headache than Dean was certain he had already. "The Triad Trap worked on them. I saw Walsh call the silver with my own eyes, felt it like some freaky echo. It's not the exact same energy as when I do it, but it's close enough that I recognize the mojo. He's a Guardian, or some bastardized version."

"You're the one and only fucking Guardian." Caleb shook his head. "That bullshit Owen was spouting during our little sessions can't be true. I don't buy it for a second. They are nothing like us."

"I think that's the whole point, Dude."

Caleb growled, slamming his head back against the seat. "How could The Order exist and we not know about it. How could no one in The Brotherhood have ever known about it?"

"I think Pastor Jim knew about them." Dean saw the explosion coming, rushed on to prevent the outburst. "It's not anything specific he said, but he mentioned a trial, a time when he had to face the dark side of himself. He said it was a challenge all Guardians must bear. If Reagan's predecessor was a fortune hunter like him, then that would explain Jim's obsession with collecting any and all objects of power during his reign as Guardian."

"And you didn't think Jim's little cryptic message warranted mentioning? How am I supposed to protect you if you keep secrets from me?"

"I thought my trial was going to Hell for forty years, Damien and we both know how much you like to talk about that whole experience." Dean kept his time in Hell to himself as much for his own sanity as the protection of those he loved. In the beginning Sam pushed for him to open up and share, but Caleb skirted the subject completely.

"Damn it, Deuce, it's not like that. You can talk to me about anything."

"That's a two way street, man. I'm not the only one good at selective sharing."

"Fuck, Dean. A few hours with a psyched out SEAL is not even in the same ballgame as what you went through with Alistair. Apples and oranges, dude."

"Pot and kettle, Damien. Torture is torture." Dean understood it wasn't the pain that worked on a man like Caleb; it was the idea of being out of control, helpless and at another's mercy, another who was enjoying your suffering. Dean knew. Torture stole pieces of your humanity, whittled you down to something primal, animalistic and that was the last thing his best friend needed on his brittle psyche.

"Can't we just chalk it up to a learning experience? I might not have been in the military, but I had Corporal John Winchester as a drill sergeant for twenty years. " Caleb forced a grin. "And if you must know, the _real_ torture was listening to Owen go on and on about Mordred, The Order, and how Reagan Walsh was the fucking Guardian of all Guardians. There was even a musical score. Bad opera provided by that prick Jonah. I thought my fucking ears were going to bleed."

"If I'd known I'd shot that bastard, too."

Caleb laughed and the genuineness almost let Dean believe The Knight's chainmail had somehow guarded his heart from the worst. "Thanks for that by the way, though I doubt a bullet did much to bring Owen out of his psychotic state."

"I think Mac would say his is a permanent pathology." Dean took the keys out of the ignition, realizing any in roads he might have made into the conversation were quickly drawing to a close. "But it still felt damn good to do it. If not for Riley's warning, I'd put in a few more slugs for good measure."

"You believe Indy is on to something about the whole Bizzaro thing-that he's right in thinking we can't kill them?"

"It would make sense as to why typically the Guardians avoid each other; keep the existence of one another secret, why they don't risk bringing their Triads in to contact with one another."

"Walsh risked it." Caleb stared out the window again, this time scanning the sidewalk where the street lights had just flickered off with the cresting of pink and orange rays from the sun.

"For some outrageous item or pay-off the angels no doubt promised him." Dean leaned over his friend, reaching into the dash where he'd put his journal. He'd quickly jotted down some notes from Ethan's last phone call about Walsh's sealed record. The man had an impressive career, right up until the honorary discharge. There was a vague reference to a family crisis but nothing specific.

"He's a cocky sonofabitch," Caleb said. "And almost as warped as Owen. He just hides it better."

"You'll get no arguments from me." Dean closed the dash, turned to grab the keys from the ignition. He noted that Caleb was still watching the street, eyes narrowed. He felt a tiny twinge of fear. "Damien?"

"You know that scar on Owen's neck?"

Dean nodded, peering out the windshield to see what had captured his friend's attention. "The wicked Columbian necktie someone gave him."

"It was a present from Walsh."

"Damn. So much for brotherhood." Dean ran a hand over his mouth, not quite able to comprehend how twisted a man would be to do that to a teammate, let alone to someone he claimed was his best friend. "More reasons for us to find out as much as we can about the bastards and then do what it takes to keep them in obscurity."

With a frustrated sigh, Caleb finally tore his gaze from the road and faced Dean. "Maybe Raphael and his angel crew will take care of them for us."

"You really think our luck is going to hold out on that one?"

Caleb's mouth twitched. "Hell, no. Fucking Josh is right about us usually ending up as Fate's bitches."

It was Dean's turn to laugh. "Then if you're not going to cry on my shoulder, Nancy, we better go hear Riley's brilliant theory."

Caleb groaned. "And I thought nothing could make me dread going into Griffin's lair more than last time, which I swore would be the one and only time by the way."

"Suck it up, soldier." Dean was willing to let Caleb get away with not talking, but he wasn't about to let him out of his sight at least not until the gnawing feeling in his gut subsided. He opened his door and got out, waiting for his friend to do the same. "Consider it another chance to ogle Griffin's house."

"Porter could live in The Biltmore Mansion and I'd still have reservations about visiting."

"Then think of the steaks." Dean opened the gate that would allow them entrance to the walkway. He could see shadows through the shears in the large bay window despite the bulk of Griffin's Christmas tree. "Big fat juicy two hundred dollar steaks."

"It all comes down to food for you, doesn't it Deuce?" Caleb stuffed his hands into his jacket, trailing at a snail's pace despite the cold.

"Food, drink, sex...I'm a man all about the base emotions." Dean picked up his pace, the sudden promise of warmth and breakfast quickly overshadowing gloomy thoughts of The Trinity. "Something you taught me, I believe."

"Lay that load at Bobby's feet where it belongs."

"Bobby occasionally has some sage advice."

"Like?"

"Never eat anything bigger than your head."

Caleb groaned. "Please stop. _I_ taught you to appreciate the finer things in life."

"Exactly." Dean held up his hand, counting off on his fingers as he trudged up the stairs to Griffin's door. "Pie, cold beer, hot women, not necessarily in that order."

Caleb propped his hands on his hips, looking like he did when he was addressing rookie hunters. "Please tell me you haven't let Juliet get to know the real you yet."

"The woman lives in the woods with wolves; I think she sees me as a step up, Damien." Dean frowned at his friend. "And what's up with channeling your evil step brother, Josh's attitude. You usually think I'm awesome."

"I do think you're awesome, Kiddo." Caleb patted his shoulder, not bothering to knock as he opened the door. "But I'm not a potential mate."

"Mate?" Dean was willing to play along, hoping Caleb was only being half serious. His friend had been slightly obsessed with Dean's potential prodigy since that time-travelling kid James bounced into Sam's body. The accidental introduction to Juliet had only encouraged his belief Dean was destined to father the next generation of hunters. He didn't have the heart to tell Caleb his theories about James being Sam's son, or the fact that though he liked Juliet, he doubted a serious relationship or a family life had any place in The Guardian's future. It gave The Knight something to dwell on besides the fact they were once again joining Porter's campfire.

"I should give you some pointers on the actual art of dating, not just hooking up before I head back to New York." Caleb slid out of his jacket, tossing it on the coat rack before anyone could come to greet them. "This could be the mother of our children."

"Come again?" Dean laughed, glancing around the entranceway as he heard several voices in the room just beyond.

"I mean _your_ children." Caleb quickly corrected. "We don't want you taking her to some god-awful chain restaurant for happy hour and two for one appetizers."

"Like TGI Fridays?" Dean couldn't suppress his grin at the horrified expression on Caleb's face as they made their way into the living room. "What? I hear Margarita Mondays are to die for."

"Are you talking about Fridays?" Riley bounced from the couch where he was sitting with Bradley. "I love Margarita Mondays."

"I hope my point has been made for me, Deuce." Caleb skirted around the enthusiastic hunter, making his way to the fireplace where Sam stood.

"Are you even old enough to drink, Indy?"Dean frowned at the curly headed hunter, who since hitting a late growth spurt nearly matched his own height. Boone's son was more man than kid now, but Dean would probably always see him as the gangly eighteen year old college freshman who had helped them out with Samuel Colt's journal.

"My fake IDs say I am." Riley favored him with a mischievous grin. "But I'm more about observing and interacting with the native social scene."

"He means all the drunk sorority girls." Bradley stood extending his hand to Dean. Of the two Bradley was the more reserved, serious. Dean caught the flash of silver on the young hunter's hand, an odd mix of pride and responsibility stirring inside as he regarded the first new members of The Brotherhood he'd ushered into the fold. That had been several months before, and despite Caleb's exaggerated stories, the two were well on their way to serving the ranks well.

"I figured as much." Dean returned the firm handshake, regarding Riley with a frown. "Just make sure I don't receive a call from Kathleen. Nothing makes a Guardian reconsider the rings he's given like a midnight rant from a pissed off mother."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, she won't have reason to call." Riley lifted three fingers. "I swear."

"If you were a boy scout, Indy, why the hell did I have to spend three fucking hours teaching you to build a campfire in the woods of Minnesota last month?" Caleb growled, sounding so much like John Winchester that Dean exchanged an amused glance with his brother, whose roll of his eyes told him he was thinking the exact same thing. The former Knight, John Winchester would no doubt not have approved of Dean's choice of new recruits.

"This is a Vulcan vow of truthfulness, Caleb," Riley explained matter-of-factly. "Not the Scout's pledge."

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. That makes perfect sense."

"Where's Porter and Josh?" Dean sniffed the air. "Setting the table, maybe?"

"They're in Griffin's library with Carolyn."

"Carolyn came?" Dean had not requested his top Geek's presence.

"That explains the fourth person," Caleb started forward, towards the hallway that would take them farther into Griffin's home. "Who else is here?"

"No one that I know of," Riley replied following after Caleb and Sam who was close behind The Knight.

Dean looked longingly at the kitchen, disappointed no aromas floated to him as they passed. "So much for breakfast," he muttered, making his way with the others.

They found Griffin in a room that rivaled some of the embellished public libraries Dean had visited. Two walls were lined with wooden shelves overflowing with books. High back caramel-colored leather chairs circled a couch of the same design. A bronze sculpture of a soldier mounted on horseback was the focal point of the space, a huge painting of General Lee and Grant took up the area above the crackling fireplace. The other wall was banked with a desk containing a large state of the art flat screen computer as well as a mini bar. Griffin was at the helm; Carolyn leaned over his shoulder pointing out something on the monitor. They all turned to Dean when he entered the room, Joshua moving determinedly to intercept him.

"It seems you forgot to mention you summoned my wife to join us on this particular quest."

"I told you Dean didn't ask me to come," Carolyn answered before Dean could deny the accusation. He arched a brow at the researcher. He distinctly recalled assuring her that sending the information she gathered over the encrypted computer system would be adequate. "This was extremelysensitive material I felt had to be delivered in person."

"That's Lee's Surrender to Grant at Appomattox." Caleb said of the oil canvas, providing a perfectly timed redirect, though Dean doubted The Knight did it on purpose. As Mac would say, Damien's sense of relational dynamics was often narrowly focused, meaning he could be self absorbed as hell. For once Dean was grateful for his best friend's obsession with all things art. He was damn sure mediating newlywed feuds was not on the Guardian agenda.

"It's by Guillaume," Griffin confirmed.

"Is it a replica?"Caleb asked.

"It is, but a good one just the same, yes?" Griffin looked to the painting before regarding them with one of his self-assured smiles. "You know there is a large contingency in The Brotherhood who believes Grant was Lincoln's Knight, and that Lieutenant Colonel Parker, the Native American officer you see standing directly behind Grant was his Triad's Scholar."

"Parker drafted the conditions of surrender that Lee signed," Sam surprised his brother by speaking up. "I don't have his journal but Parker is mentioned in Colt's journal."

"Not this again," Joshua groaned, kneading his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Is it truly necessary for our organization to insist on claiming infamous individuals in our ranks Do we not deal in the fanciful enough as it is?"

"Have you not read Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter?" Riley asked, exasperated. "They're making a movie adaptation and I for one..."

"I for one think we should stick to the current problem at hand," Joshua interrupted, sending Dean a heated glare. "So that we may all return to our busy lives at home."

"He means me." Carolyn crossed her arms over her chest, her determined gaze also finding Dean's. She raised a challenging brow and Dean shook his head slowly, he already played part-time mediator for Sam and Caleb. He was not adding marriage counselor to his resume.

"You're pregnant."

The declaration choked his response. Every eye turned to Caleb who had suddenly lost interest in the art and was now studying Joshua's wife with all the same intensity. Dean shared a look with Sam, who shook his head slightly indicating he had no idea what was happening. Dean hoped to hell his friend wasn't having some kind of breakdown.

"I beg your pardon?" Joshua sputtered.

"Carolyn's knocked up. It explains the fifth presence I was picking up on. The one I couldn't quite explain." Caleb grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. "I thought my abilities were screwing with me again, but now I can sense it clearly. You're pregnant."

Carolyn's arms fell to her side, she let out a small strangled mewling sound that reminded Dean of the baby bunny he and Sam had rescued from Atticus when they were kids. Caleb was undaunted by the frightened doe in the headlights look. He turned to Griffin.

"I mean Sammy might not have noticed it, but you'd have picked it up the minute she walked in the room."

"And I would have kept it to myself out of a good sense of decorum." Griffin cleared his throat, tilting his head to Carolyn. "But seeing as how the cat has been let out of the bag, congratulations to the happy couple."

Dean watched Carolyn's hands go to her stomach, her bottom lip started to quiver and something worse than fear twisted in his gut. She could not start crying. He could not handle it, especially not before breakfast and his usual three cups of coffee.

"Say something!" He hissed, jabbing his Advisor in the side with a sharp elbow, before promptly turning and slapping Caleb in the back of the head. The only thing missing was a good eye gouge. "Smooth, Damien. Real smooth."

"What?" Caleb rubbed his head. "It's good news, right?"

"News Carolyn would probably like to have delivered herself." Sam punched his shoulder. "Jerk."

"It's wonderful news." Joshua seemed to come back to himself, moving a step towards his wife. "Unexpected, but wonderful just the same."

"I was going to tell you." Carolyn took a shuttering breath. "But you rushed off for the hunt when Caleb texted. I didn't want to just blurt it out and ruin the big moment."

"Too bad Damien didn't have any such restraint." Dean looked up at The Knight.

"I already knew." Joshua laid a hand over hers. "I found the test in the bathroom-that's why I was upset that you'd flown here."

"See, he already knew," Caleb defended. "Explains why he was so hot to get away from home and go on that farce of a gig."

Everyone including Carolyn sent an incredulous look in The Knight's direction. Even Riley covered his face with a hand, Bradley ducking his head at the major faux pas on the older hunter's part.

"What? It's not like he's the first guy to freak out at the prospect of fatherhood. I would have skipped Kansas and headed straight for Mexico."

Joshua glowered at his step brother. "And you claim I have a talent for saying the worst possible thing at the most inopportune times?"

"Pastor Jim would definitely call pot and kettle," Sam agreed.

"You're not helping me, Runt." Caleb hissed.

"Not trying to, Roomie." Sam shrugged. Dean not missing the amusement in his brother's dark gaze.

Carolyn sent Caleb a disappointed scowl before returning her gaze to Joshua. "I'm beginning to think you're right about Caleb and Mr. Wickham."

"Who?" Caleb demanded.

"_Pride and Prejudice_ reference." Sam snorted. "I'm pretty sure Wickham is worse than Darcy."

"I'm pretty sure it's time we leave the happy couple alone while we sort out our other business in the kitchen." Dean decided it was time to give his best friend a break, not to mention his Advisor. He gave Caleb a shove, glancing towards Griffin. "Maybe over a celebratory breakfast for The Guardian, who did happen to find The Holy Lance and thwart a sinister plan by a Bizarro Triad?"

"I think that can be arranged." Porter patted Dean on the back as he passed. "In fact, dual occasions for celebration calls for champagne. Mimosas for everyone, except for the mother-to-be."

"You think I screwed my shot at godfather?" Caleb asked with a final glance over his shoulder to Joshua and Carolyn, who seemed oblivious to the evacuation maneuvers taking place around them. Bradley and Riley had practically trampled over each other to vacate the premises once Carolyn started sniffling, this time with presumed tears of happiness. Dean did not envy Joshua these next long months.

"Godfather?" Sam choked. "I think you'll be lucky to be invited to birthday parties and major holidays."

"I wasn't asking you, Sam," Caleb growled.

Sam wasn't thwarted. "Best case scenario: the kid cries when you come in the room and calls you crazy Uncle Caleb with all the cats behind your back."

Caleb took a swipe at the grinning Scholar who barely danced out of range. "I hate cats."

Dean laughed, tossing an arm over Caleb's shoulder to prevent Sam's bloodshed as much as console The Knight. "Don't sweat it, Damien. Worst comes to worse, you can always buy the kid's affection. Carolyn's influence be damned, no Sawyer is going to scoff at a super rich relative."

"Money can't buy me a namesake, Deuce."

"The hell you say." Dean snorted. "You give me a million dollars and I'll not only make you the godfather of my first born, but I'll name the little tyke after you, too."

Caleb stopped in the doorway of the dining room, seeming to consider the offer. "Caleb Winchester has a nice ring to it."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Thomas."

"My middle name? " Caleb shook his head. "That's not worth a million, maybe a couple of grand at best."

"Jonathan Thomas Winchester." Dean continued the joking, going with the flow of their typical banter, but the sound of the name out loud had that ever present knot in his gut tugging a different way. His smile faltered, as an unfamiliar pang of longing washed over him. Not since his run in with Lisa Braeden and her son Ben had he allowed himself to consider having a family of his own. The revelation the boy didn't belong to him, his time in Hell, and the latest battle with Lucifer, erasing any hopes he could indulge in such fantasy. He swallowed the lump that had sprung to the back of his throat, blaming the unexpected and unwanted emotion on the surprising revelation that Joshua was going to be a father. Maybe Damien wasn't the only who wanted to see the future seeded.

"JT for short," Sam's soft voice had Dean meeting his brother's gaze and he once again wondered if The Scholar was using his abilities to read his thoughts, or just knew him too well. Sam's dimples flashed. "No kid should have to live up to John Winchester."

"I'll still call him Johnny." Caleb squeezed Dean's shoulder."Or maybe Runt."

"Speaking of names a kid should never have to live with." Sam groaned. "That one should be retired forever."

"Or at least until Sammy finds a desperate woman who'll overlook how completely geeky he is and agree to bare his offspring." Dean fell back on old hat to shake off the odd melancholy. He refocused on the current moment. Bradley and Riley were already seated at Griffin's dining room table, laptops in front of them. They were engrossed in work, not bothering to look up when The Triad entered.

"Not going to happen, Dean." Sam joined him, pulling out a chair beside Bradley. "Ever."

"He's got a point, Deuce." Caleb took the seat furthest from Porter, who entered from the kitchen carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and several cups. "Not many women are that desperate."

"I meant me becoming a father, ass hat," Sam growled low in his throat.

Dean shook his head, shooting his brother a grin. "Stranger things have happened, Sammy."

"Like a Bizarro Triad showing up out of the blue to reek havoc on the universe?" Riley gazed up at Dean with a gleam in his eye. "Am I right?"

Dean shared a look with Caleb who shook his head at the kid's excitement. It was going to be a very long day. "Yeah, Indy, something just like that."

RcJ*Snsnsnsn*RcJ

Dean had been right about the day, time quickly slipping from morning to mid-day and now to late afternoon. He nursed a glass of Porter's expensive scotch, watching the last rays of sun bounce off the Impala's hood from behind Griffin's bay window. Porter was back in his study, filling Bobby in as he had finally arrived an hour before. Dean had left Sam in charge. The Scholar was in his element taking over the meeting like a classroom, with Mackland in attendance from Europe via Skype. Despite being The Guardian, Dean couldn't take listening to the postulations one more time without his head exploding.

"Maybe you should take your own warnings about consuming too much fifty year old hooch to heart, Deuce." Caleb had slipped in behind him, his stealth a sure sign Dean was tired and maybe a little drunk. The previous night without sleep, the hunt for not only The Holy Lance, but The Knight as well, was finally catching up. Riley's dark revelations were only icing on the cake. Dean didn't face his friend, taking another drink as his reply.

"Sam and I can head back to the farm with you instead of taking Porter up on his offer of the car to the airport."

"Our long weekend is over." Dean turned, shaking his head. The detour to Griffin's and the unexpected kidnapping had eaten up their time, taking the prospect of a relaxing hunt with it. "Sam needs to get back to class."

"Then I could..."

"Damien, I'm fine."

Caleb ducked his head, clenching his fists and Dean sighed, lightening his tone. "Besides, don't you need to get back to the city and start working on a way to get back into Carolyn's good graces? She still wasn't speaking to you when her and Josh left for Charlotte."

"I'll win her over before the kid pops out."

Dean snorted. "Sure you will, Mr. Sensitivity."

"With my looks and talent I don't have to be sensitive."

"I doubt Josh will let you show his pregnant wife your _talents_, dude."

"I meant painting," Caleb said with a touch of exasperation, which was Dean's intention all along. "I have this amazing idea for a nursery mural. Carolyn will love it."

"Let me guess?" Dean brought the drink to his mouth to hide his smile. "There are dragons-lots and lots of dragons?"

"What's wrong with dragons?" Caleb frowned. "Kids love dragons."

Dean shook his head at his best friend's predictability. He wasn't sure 'normal' kids liked fire-breathing beasts, too many having been taught they were usually the villains of a story. Caleb might be better off going with dinosaurs, but Dean wasn't about to burst his bubble. They would make sure Pastor Jim's legacy lived on. "You're right. A jade green protection dragon and a red fire dragon are exactly what the next generation needs."

"Don't you forget it." Caleb leaned against the window, pulling the curtain aside to glance outside. "You know Indy could be wrong about all this. He's basing a lot of his Trinity theory on the graphic novel he's writing."

"A graphic novel Carolyn, Bradley and some of the brightest minds in The Brotherhood helped him research." The think tank had not realized their fun project would be relevant to anything besides Bradley's dissertation and Riley's budding career as an author, but Fate had once again proven to have a cruel sense of humor where they were concerned. Dean ran his free hand through his hair, concentrating on the pulse of silver from his hunter's band. The news, although not good, hadn't been a complete surprise. After all, Walsh had tried to tell them about Morgana and Mordred. "Gives a whole new meaning to truth being stranger than fiction."

"We might not see them again." Caleb folded his arms over his chest. "This could have been your test. You met the other Guardian, defeated him without killing him."

Dean arched a brow, Caleb's confidence easily crumbling. The Knight sighed. "Or it could be just the beginning move in a long drawn out chess game that Reagan Walsh has constructed."

Dean took another drink. "Guess which one my money's on, Damien."

"Just because the pieces are on the board, doesn't mean we have to play," Caleb pointed out. "Other Triads have fulfilled their destinies with The Order's presence."

"We're not like other Triads." Dean knew their uniqueness was both a blessing and a curse. "I think Walsh is counting on that."

"We defeated the devil, how much harder can this be?"

"I don't want to find out." Dean didn't think he could survive another year like their last. He was just settling into the role of Guardian; getting the garage up and running. He wanted a chance to breathe, to explore all those possibilities Pastor Jim was always going on about. "We almost lost everything that was important to us. Nothing matters if we lose our family."

"We're not going to lose anyone." Caleb bumped his arm. "Isn't that what all your extra security detail is supposed to ensure?"

"You know about that?" Dean shouldn't have been surprised. Caleb could be self absorbed but not much escaped him when it came to his job as Knight.

"You think I'm not going to notice the new Tai Chi teacher from the park shadowing me, Deuce? He has ex-cop written all over him." Caleb snorted. "I wasn't sure if he was a stalker hot for my body or a nefarious undercover plant until I followed him one night and caught his meet up with Silas."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd have to talk to his chief of security.

"I don't rank a leggy blond like that university chick you've assigned to Sammy?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "You made Georgia?"

"You really think Sam can keep me in the dark about hooking up with a girl by meeting in boring libraries and obscure coffee shops? Besides, the perfect woman, especially one who looks a hell of a lot like Jessica, and is a card carrying member of MENSA, doesn't usually just drop into a guys lap out of the blue. Especially when said guy does everything he can to discourage attention of the female kind."

"You going to tell him?"

"I didn't tell Mac about his new doorman and the new manager of Esme's boutique or Josh about Drew's latest boyfriend. I don't see why I should tell Sam. Besides, hanging out with cute brainy chicks on the sly makes him happy. The runt deserves some happiness."

"I don't like you and Sam being so far away," Dean said in a way of an explanation. He didn't want Caleb to get the wrong idea, to think he didn't trust him.

"The feeling is mutual, Kiddo, but The Knight doesn't need a bodyguard. It's kind of redundant."

"Humor me." Dean held his friend's gaze. The last few days had reminded him that Knights were not invincible. According to Riley's numerous charts history proved they were in fact the most vulnerable member of a Triad. "I need to feel like I have some control, especially with this new situation."

"Okay." Caleb nodded. "If it will give you some peace of mind."

Dean wasn't sure anything would provide such a gift but he was thankful for Caleb's uncharacteristic cooperation. He raised a brow. "What do you expect in return?"

The Knight's mouth twitched. "That you spend more time getting to know Juliet and less time worrying about me and Sam."

"That doesn't sound like too bad of a compromise, as long as you keep up your entire end of the deal."

"Which is?"

"Make it to Christmas without me having to call favors in with Castiel. No more falling out of bed or antagonizing Navy SEALS."

"I think I can handle those conditions."

"There's more."

"Of course there is, because making a deal with a Winchester is almost as bad as making time with a crossroads demon."

"Score me that special gift we talked about for Sam, and the pimped out office chair like Tennison's Chief Carter had for our beloved Captain Singer." Dean held out his hand to The Knight. "No kissing required, Damien. Our typical handshake is sufficient."

"No foreplay and I'm still getting screwed." Caleb rolled his eyes but clasped Dean's forearm. "As usual I'm coughing up all the dough on the presents that will somehow be from both of us come Christmas Day."

Dean grinned, returning his best friend's grip. "While you're at it you might want to add a top of the line crib from The Triad to your list."

"You know I better get one hell of a present from you."

"My friendship is the gift that keeps on giving."

"I want something tangible this year." Caleb let him go, with a shove. "And a separate birthday present. No crappy combo gifts."

Dean rolled his eyes at the twenty year old lament. "I got it. Jesus Christ has his day, Caleb Reaves has his."

"Do you really have nothing better to do than complain about your way too close to Christmas birthday?" Sam entered the room carrying his and Caleb's duffel,his backpack and computer bag. "What happened to helping me get our crap together? Griffin said the car would be here anytime. We don't want to miss our flight."

Dean would have been lying to say the luggage and obvious signs of his brother and Caleb leaving yet again sent an icy pain through his chest. The prospect of driving back to New Haven alone was less than appealing. He covered the best way he could. "So the other happy couple is on their way?" He finished the rest of his drink in one gulp. "When might I expect news of your upcoming bundle of joy?"

"I told him we could get a puppy." Caleb offered, batting his eyes at Sam.

"A puppy I would be in charge of taking out and feeding. No, thank you." Sam dropped the bags. "There is a reason Mac never let you have a dog. You have fossilized plants in the apartment that I'm pretty sure Missouri gave you when you moved in after college."

"I've kept you two alive all these years." Caleb bent down and grabbed his duffel with a grunt. "No one seems to remember all my successful years as a manny."

"The Winchesters family will be glad to give you a reference when Carolyn and Joshua are interviewing for the position." Dean glanced at Sam. "We'll even mention that you draw a mean dragon and can make a decent hot dog/mac and cheese casserole."

"Don't do me any favors, Deuce." Caleb jerked his head towards the door, nodding to Sam. "Psychic alert tells me the car is here, Dear."

"I'll be right out." Sam tossed him his backpack. "I call shotgun."

Caleb nodded, meeting Dean's gaze once more. "Don't cut the Christmas tree until we get there. You and I can go out and forage while little Sammy strings popcorn and cranberries." He backed to the door with a lopsided grin and salacious bobbing of eyebrows. "But feel free to put out the mistletoe . Be generous with it. Maybe Juliet will feel charitable since it's the holidays."

"Goodbye, Damien." Dean waved him away, shaking his head at Sam when The Knight finally left them alone. "I thought he'd never leave."

"You wish he was staying here so you could watch him."

"No I don't. He's fine." Dean frowned at his brother, irritated at the fact Sam saw through him. "I mean, the whole weird way he was acting before can be explained by the fact he was targeted and kidnapped by The Trinity. Right?"

"We've seen his abilities act up when he was in danger." Sam nodded thoughtfully. "It's plausible they would try to alert him to what was going to happen."

It wasn't exactly the reassurance he was hoping for. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But you'll watch him just the same and report back."

"I promise."

"Thanks, little brother." Dean forced a smile. "Good luck with finals."

"Yeah, because finals are the foremost problem I have at the moment." Sam sighed. "Maybe I should just forget about school this semester and come back home. With the Trinity around you may need me."

Dean couldn't help but to feel a rush of hope, the kind of emotion every parent probably felt when their kid called them homesick from college. He quickly forced the selfish desires to go to New York and pack Sam up to the back of his mind. As much as he wanted Sam with him, his little brother needed to be in New York. "We both know that's not the best plan."

"What if me going back to school was the stupid plan, Dean? I'm not a kid anymore. I have responsibilities and..."

"The most important of which is to yourself." Dean reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You need to do this, Sammy. You need to finish what you started all those years ago at Stanford before I dragged you back into the game."

"This has nothing to do with Stanford, Dean!"

Unfortunately, Dean knew differently. He moved his hand to Sam's neck, giving it a hard squeeze. "I know it's not what you thought it would be. That time at Stanford is gone and as much as I'd like to, I can't give it back to you. Those people have moved on. Jess is dead. I know you're pissed because you don't see things the way you used to. You know too much, have hurt too much. It's hard and it's not fair, but I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can do this. You'll find a way to make it work, to make it better." Dean had to believe that for his brother, for himself.

Sam's eyes glistened as he watched Dean, silent at first, then a hint of a dimple showed. "You've been practicing that speech since I left, haven't you?"

"I left out the part about following your destiny."

"Thanks, great and wise Guardian."

Dean smirked. "Living at Pastor Jim's has inspired me."

"It's not Pastor Jim's anymore, Dean. It's your place."

"It's _our_ home." Dean removed his touch. "And I'll expect you and your nanny there as soon as finals are over-maybe the day after if you let yourself get roped into some kind of keg party."

Sam groaned. "Dean, I'm not eighteen."

"Still, you live with Caleb and he would kill to go to some Alpha Beta Kappa soirée."

"We'll be home as soon as I'm done with my last test," Sam assured. "We can celebrate at the farm, with you."

Dean was pleased with the promise, and the fact this time around Sam seemed more interested in spending time with his family than with any potential people he might meet at school, but Dean would see to it that Georgia found a way to coax his brother into joining in on some of the campus activities. "My one request is that you bring more pie."

"In lieu of presents?"

"Hell no." Dean cuffed him on the back of the head. "Like Damien, I expect real gifts."

"I'll see what I can do between passing exams and wading through Riley's manuscript."

"I have faith in The Scholar." Dean had enough for both of them.

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"Are you kidding? Did you not see that stack of invoices I was going through when you and Damien showed up with the Big Foot gig? It will take me to Christmas to get through it all. I won't even have time to miss you and Damien."

"What about Walsh?"

"I definitely won't spend days pining over that bastard."

"You know what I meant." Sam shook his head at the avoidant tactic. He bent down to pick up his things when a horn blared from outside. "Jerk."

"Yeah, I know." Dean slapped him on the back with a laugh. "Bitch."

"You need to watch your back."

"I'm not worried about Walsh."

The look Sam gave him from the door told Dean just how well he'd pulled off the lie. "Call us when you get home, Dean."

Dean nodded, holding back on his desire to tell Sam to wait as the door closed between them. He instead went to the window, peeked around the blinds to watch his brother pile into the passenger seat of the car before the black Lincoln pulled slowly away from the curb with his Triad in tow. Red taillights blurred with the Christmas lights dancing around every neighboring house before disappearing into the darkness. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. The vibration of his cell had him collecting himself, pulling the phone from his pocket to stare at the screen where a new text had just arrived. It was from Caleb.

_"Big Foot gets a reprieve for Christmas, but that hairy bastard doesn't ring in another New Year-first gig of the season." _

Dean grinned, the tightness in his chest loosening. He typed his reply. 'Good thinking, Damien. What baby nursery doesn't need a nice fur rug?"

_LMAO_ was followed by _Short straw does the skinning, Deanna. _

Dean shook his head, knowing exactly who'd come out the loser on that game of chance. He was about to put the phone away when it beeped again. The new message was from Sam. It said 'Merry Christmas, Big Brother' and had a picture attached.

Dean clicked on the link. A glowing image of a shiny black Oster Belgian Waffle Maker much like the one from their hotel in Tennison filled the screen and suddenly a few thousand miles, a couple of weeks of quiet at the farm and a Bizarro Triad plotting evil didn't seem quite so daunting. He smiled to himself, wondering how Juliet felt about breakfast in bed.


End file.
